Ten Candies: Part One: Two Couples
by KKJxHatter
Summary: "Stan and Kyle saw this job as the opportunity of a lifetime. . .They had no idea just how right they were. Nor how devastatingly wrong. . ." various pairings/het/yaoi/yuri
1. Prologue: One Cake

I don't own South Park. I am not making any money off this story.

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The cake was ten tiers high, frosted in light green butter creme. Underneath the thick coat of yummy, real frosted goodness was several inches of moist chocolate cake with heavy sections of chocolate mousse. It was a giant declaration of sweet decadence. The pride of the party of which there was so much buzz and talk and chatter. One single slice would be six and a half inches thick, for every layer was that fat. Not only did it look good, but it was certain to taste the same. This boastful icon of childhood sugarplum fairy dreams had been purchased at the finest bakery in all of South Park. It's ticket price was in the five hundred range, as it was made with the purest of pure ingredients. Yes, that cake was a joy to stare at, standing there in his jean shorts and lime green tank in the beginning heat of the upcoming summer.

Smiling, Kyle gripped the kitchen counter and looked up the several feet above his head to tip of the cake. He could barely believe that his mother had spent so much money on the cake for his tenth birthday party. Yet, there it was, glistening in the sunlight coming in from the windows around him. Unable to contain his glee any longer, he reached up to swipe a small sample of that sweet, swirled topping.

" Bubbie!" his mother's shrill voice rang out behind him. Kyle jumped with a squeak, his finger merely an inch from the sneaky treat he had intended on taking. Twisting around, he found himself face to face with his frowning mother. She shook her finger in his face, " You know better than that, Kyle. That cake is for your party,"

" I know, but. . . Can't I just. . . have a tiny taste? Just some of the frosting?" he pleaded, doing his best to make his eyes look bigger than they were. His pout fell flat, for she continued to shake her finger.

" No, Bubbie. You already had breakfast. You don't need any sweets. Besides, it's for your little guests," Shelia reminded him in that stern voice she had always used when the topic of discussion had reached an untimely end. Kyle sulked back a few feet as she swept between him and the cake that taunted him so, " You want them to see how pretty it is, don't you?"

" I don't think they'll care. . ."

" What was that, Bubula?"

" Nothing, Ma'am," Kyle quickly changed his tone as he flashed his pearly whites up at her. She eyed him suspiciously, clearly not buying his act. Still, she didn't poke any further. She just pushed her hands into his back to ease him from the kitchen and it's teasingly seductive cake, " Can I have some when the guys come over?"

" Oh, no, Kyle. You have to wait for the party. You need to have enough for everyone," she straighten his shirt with a sharp tug, then frowned ever deeper, " You need to go change, Bubbie. You look like trailer trash in those ratty, old shorts,"

" That's because they're Kenny's,"

" Oh, Kyle, why on Earth are you wearing that McCormick boy's clothes? I spent so much money on the clothes you have upstairs, the ones you never wear," Shelia's voice went from stern to complaining. Kyle could have smacked himself in the face for daring to bring up something so stupid. He definitely knew better than to mention borrowing anything from anyone.

" I know, Mom, but Ken's shorts are more comfortable. They're really broken in and everything, you know?"

" No, I certainly don't know. That boy is always in the same clothes when he's over here. You give him back his shorts and put on the ones I bought for you. Right this second, Kyle," she barked, pointing up the stairs in the general direction of his bedroom. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned to leave when she snatched up his upper arm, " And no sass from you, Kyle, or you won't get any cake, birthday or no. You're starting to get fat as it is,"

Kyle's mouth dropped open in shock as she patted his stomach with a disapproving glance. He quickly looked down, but he couldn't make out anything resembling fat there. He might have gotten a little chubby over the school year, sure, but 'fat'? No, never. After all, he still fit into Kenny's jean shorts. Everyone knew that Kenny was nothing but skin and bones. Cautiously rubbing his stomach, then, Kyle gave his mother a bitter look. He couldn't believe she would be so rude about it. He had put on a couple pounds, but fat, he was far from it. How dare she say such a thing?

As he was opening his mouth to snap something of the sort, his father came down the stairs with his little brother. Gerald was smiling and holding a container of plastic party hats in various shades of green. He wished his son a happy birthday before sticking a crown on his head. Kyle weakly smiled, leaving it there only to appease his well meaning father. Ike giggled a little, then was snatched up by Gerald on his way out of the living room. The two of them went through the kitchen and out to the backyard, leaving Kyle with his mother once again. Whereas Kyle attempted to continue his well deserved defense of his body, his mother cut him off.

" You need to help your father get the party set up. The party is at noon, so you have about three hours. Don't give me that look, Bubbie," Shelia instructed curtly, tapping her wrist watch.

" What? But it's my party!"

" I know. I think it'll encourage you to work faster. Come on, Kyle," she motioned for him to head out after his father and brother. Reluctantly, he started that way, sighing and dragging his feet, " Don't act like that. You need the exercise,"

" Hey!"

" Do you want to set up the slip and slide? Did you tell the kids to bring their swimsuits?" she ignored his exclamation quite the same way she ignored the glare he was passionately throwing her.

" I told them. . . . Mom, the guys are probably gonna be here soon. . ."

" Good, they can help you set up,"

" Mooooom,"

" No, buts, Bubbie. Your father can't do it alone and Ike's too young to help. He's only five years old," she snapped, his voice seeming to state how fed up she was with his complaints. Kyle just gave her another penetrating look that bounced off her without leaving any form of mark, " They won't have anything to do anyways. Now, come on, Kyle. Let's not waste any more time,"

Knowing that no amount of protesting would change her mind, and more than likely end with his cake privileges being revoked, Kyle decided to drop it. Groaning, he started towards the back yard to help when the doorbell rang. It was rung three times, followed by silence, which was quickly broken by loud banging. Leaving his mother's side with a big grin breaking out on his face, Kyle hurried back towards the door. He didn't wait to be told to answer it. He just ripped it open and swung it to the side, beyond happy to have been saved from the clutches of his mother by the three people who always had the most perfect timing.

Stan Marsh, Kenny McCormick, and Eric Cartman.

His closest friends in the world stood there, halfway in the middle of an argument and halfway in the middle of saying hello to the Jew. Stan was dressed in a wrinkled Terrance and Phillip tee and some old blue jeans with tears at the knees. Despite the heat, he was still in sneakers and his puff ball hat. Shockingly, Kenny was wearing only a dirty, stained orange tee and some old, holey jean shorts. His customary parka was no where to be seen, so it was like a punch to the gut to see his messy locks of blond and pale skin. Cartman was in a faded red, slightly oversized tee and the same jeans he'd been wearing the other day at school. His hair wasn't nearly as neat as usual, lending a hand to the hour he'd gotten out of bed that day. All three were holding wrapped boxes, which was the only thing that even remotely said why they were there. If not for them, they could have been there for just about anything.

" Hey, Kyle. Happy birthday," Stan greeted him, holding out the present in his hands. Kyle started to say hi and take his present when Kenny interjected, shoving his present into his arms instead.

" Hey, Kyle. Happy B-day," Kenny stated, his voice sounding loud without the normal muffling. Kyle gave him a strange look, before accepting the present Stan still held out for him. Both boxes weighed about the same, so he could only guess what was in them; although past years told him they were probably tools to help rot his mind.

" Thanks, you guys. Hey, Cartman," Kyle tried his best not to sneer, but found himself doing it anyways.

" Where's the cake?" was all the Nazi said as he simultaneously pushed his present into Kyle's arms and shoved past him into the house. The moment he did, Kenny and Stan followed suit. They drifted on past the Jew before he swung the door shut behind them.

" Jesus Christ, Cartman. You could at least pretend to care," Stan snapped in an almost monotone voice. There was some edge there, but no more than usual. Still, he was given a nasty look.

" 'Ey. I got him a present, didn't I?" Cartman hissed back, hands on his fat hips. Stan returned his dirty look with earnest. Rolling his eyes at it, Cartman waved him off with a small, curt motion of his hand. It was dismal at it's best. A physical declaration of frustration at a tiny annoyance, " Alright, alright, alright. Happy birthday, Kahl. Where's the cake?"

There was really no mistaking that flat, dead, fake tone.

" Jesus Christ," the activist mumbled into his hand as he squeezed his forefinger and thumb over the bridge of his nose.

He was blatantly ignored while Kyle blinked, pointing off in the direction of the kitchen. He seemingly didn't care one way or the other about the Nazi's obvious disregard for his 'special day'. In honest truth, he had expected as much. Still, Stan shook his head at it. Meanwhile, Cartman's eyes followed Kyle's finger as Kenny stared up at the ceiling. The poor child didn't appear to realize where he was, but then, it was difficult to tell. None of them had ever had to read his full expression before. The next to expressionless lines there meant next to nothing to any of them.

After all, they'd never talked to Kenny without his parka on before.

" The cake's in the kitchen," Kyle stated, turning away from where Kenny's blue eyes danced over the crown molding within the living room. Instead, he looked to the greedy expression on Cartman's face and the lively bored one on Stan's. Deciding it best not to keep them waiting, he started to lead them to the cake they all longed to see.

There was no question that the cake was why the three of them were there that early. Kyle knew that better than anyone, that was for sure. He had known these three boys since he was four. Six years was definitely long enough to figure a couple things out. He was certain they had dragged their butts over to his house in the early morning hours during the beginning of summer break for one thing. That was to see the cake. His cake. His tenth birthday cake. The ten tier envy of hungry boys with wide eyes like his friends. The piggy Cartman who could never get enough sweet sugar. The hungry Kenny who was too poor to afford dinner and was always mooching whatever he could for free. The easily amused Stan who sought out the strange to liven up an otherwise emotionless personality. Yes, those three were there for the cake.

Unfortunately, there was bad news.

" We're not allowed to have any. My mom says so," Kyle spat out, glancing over his shoulder hesitantly. He wasn't sure how they would react. Stan's face scrunched up in distaste whereas Kenny made a face like he wanted to spit; his expressions were as muted as his voice usually was, so it was much more subtle than Stan's outrage. Cartman, however, rolled his honey eyes with perfected precision.

" Like I fuckin' care,"

" I'm serious, Cartman. We can't have any," he firmed his voice to a rock solid, no nonsense tone. It meant nothing to the unfeeling Nazi, " I don't wanna get in any trouble today,"

" I restate. Like I fuckin' care."

" Fuck you, Fat Ass! It's my birthday and it's my party and I don't have to have you here!" Kyle's voice went frantic on the last bit. He couldn't control it. His eyes narrowed and a fiery feeling flushed over his skin. The emotion, the rage, washed over him without warning, flooding his senses. It rang in his ears, blocking out his thoughts, as fire spun it's web over his flesh. He wanted to scream. He wanted to strike. He wanted Cartman to bait him. He wanted it.

Madly.

" I bought you a present. I said happy birthday. The least I should get is some fuckin' cake!" Cartman responded in a haughty voice that ran over Kyle's warming skin like butter. It smoothed down his spine, running it's fingers playfully in the curls locked underneath his hat. He wanted to hit him, but his hands rose at his sides while Cartman waved his hands at him in that off collar dismissing way. How the embers ached as they cut in. The revel was almost overwhelming as the Jew gritted his teeth in agitation.

" Like you need any fucking cake, Fat Ass!" he screamed out, nearly at the top of his lungs. His throat stung with the pressure as he shuddered with that familiar black rage that was quickly turning his mind white.

" Shouldn't've invited me if ya didn't want me to eat the cake," was all the other said as he decidedly ignored the insults hurled at him. Kyle jerked away, his face hot as coal, his knuckles white as snow, in an attempt not to punch that arrogantly snickering face. If he hit him, he wouldn't be allowed to have this party, and then this whole ordeal would be for naught. Thus, he just said and did the only thing he could to save face.

" Oh, fuck you," Kyle literally felt his voice falling lifeless as he flipped his fat counterpart the bird. Cartman grinned that sickly twisted grin as he rolled his hand out in the infamous 'talk to the hand' that he had perfected done to a fluid science that just couldn't be copied. The vanity within that one, solitary movement was enough to make the Jew want to choke him.

" Fuck yerself, Kahl,"

Just as Kyle was opening his mouth to bark something harsh back, the four of them entered the kitchen. Almost immediately, a hush fell over the crowd. Kyle saw the three sets of eyes widen in that deliriously happy childhood pleasure of having realized some notorious, glorious milestone. The last time any one of them had looked like that had been when Stan and Kyle had broken one million points on Guitar Hero. That time, it had been about competition. This time, it was about sugar. For all ten year old boys, sugar meant so much more. For that reason alone, he let them continue staring at the masterpiece of buttercreme heaven. They did.

Right up until Kenny jerked his finger forth to point at the cake.

" FUCK!" he screeched, his voice magnified twenty times without his parka on. The still of the shock and awe was shattered like glass on cement. All three of them stared at the blond in a new version of said shock and awe. As per usual, he didn't notice. Rather, he bounced up and down, waving his hands wildly, " Lookit that mothafuckin' bitch ass cake! It's fuckin' HUGE!"

" Jesus, Kyle. Your mom sure went all out, didn't she?" Stan questioned, shaking his head slightly to silence the ringing he must of had from that booming exclaim. Kyle proudly nodding, mimicking the shaking of his own head. Kenny, of course, seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he completely lacked an indoor voice without his trusty, but missing in action, parka.

" Yeah. She got it made at that professional cake shop thing on the corner of Smith and Turner," the Jew absentmindedly moved his hand in quick flickering motions in the general direction of the location he spoke of, " You know. The one. Whatever,"

The boys didn't readily answer him. They moved closer to the cake until they were standing directly in front of it. As it had Kyle before, it towered over them in it's supreme glory. Kyle stood besides them, idly looking between them and his birthday cake. Stan and Kenny both wore the expression of vague disbelief, although the look was surprisingly different from one to the next. Whereas Stan had outright disbelief written on his face, Kenny's was much more faint. The only reason Kyle even knew how he felt was because his eyes screamed it. And Kyle was so used to those eyes. Smiling softly at their disbelieving jealousy in a mildly amused way, he eased his green eyes to Cartman's glowingly sinister look of gluttonous hunger and greed.

Kyle felt his breath catch in his throat with a shift jerk. A jolt shot down his spine from the base of his neck, ending with a trembling sensation in his legs. His knees next to gave out as his hands clenched. He had seen that look so many times before throughout his life, but never like this. He saw the passionate desire in those deeply, darkly rich honey sweet liquid eyes and he knew he had never seen this look before. He couldn't even explain it. He felt it, like a distant memory reaching forward through the black voids of his mind and grabbing at his subconscious. So familiar, yet so new. He could thus scarcely bring himself to move when Cartman slowly moved his hand close enough to the cake to touch.

His plump finger hovered over the frosting as both Kenny and Stan drew in sharp breaths. Nothing compared to the sharp, cold, burning inhale that tore up Kyle's throat, however, as he stared, waiting. The air went heavy with anticipation for the heinous act of deflowering a virgin birthday cake with the first tasting. A crime that only Eric Cartman would dare to commit.

" Sweeeet,"

Cartman's voice danced through the air as he went to run his finger along the untouched, unruffled line of light green seduction.

" Eric! Don't you touch that cake!"

The sudden, abrupt sound of Shelia Broflovski's shrill voice froze all the boys where they were. She bustled over to them quite quickly, her eyes hard and her face scolding. She quite looked like she was itching for an excuse to toss any one of them out of her house. Cartman cast her a halfway hidden look that would have made any lesser woman back away slowly, hands held up in defense. Shelia, though, didn't appear to notice as she batted her hands and nails in between the four and the cake.

" Goddammit," Cartman muttered under his breath in a venomous way. Stan appeared to be thinking the same thing as Kenny pouted in a childish manner. Kyle, on the other hand, jerked to face his mother. Her voice and the change of events snapped him out of that entrancement, bringing him to life in the worse ways.

" Mom!" he exclaimed in a weakly guilty voice. He pressed his back quickly into the counter, as if defending his cake from her clutches. She made fast work of moving him out of the way the same as she had the others. The four didn't go very far, of course. They hovered as close to the cake and it's luscious taboo goodness as she would allow them.

" You boys are not to have some of that cake! It's for the party!"

" We weren't gonna have none. I was just showin' the guys," Kyle hurriedly said, shaking his head and his hands at the same time. His frantic fashion of assuring her appeared to work, although he wasn't sure why. Either way, Shelia wagged her finger in their faces.

" Good," she coldly stated, moving her hands to her hips. Kyle exhaled in relief before his mother pointed to the backdoor as it was opening," Now that you boys are here, you can help Kyle set up,"

" Moooom!"

" No, no! You boys are going outside," Shelia informed them, turning away to look at her husband. Gerald walked in, holding the party hats from before. He didn't take but a moment to greet the boys. As soon as he had, though, he was looking at Shelia as she did her best to scoot the boys from their protective stance near the cake, " Gerald, take the cake,"

A tremor of horror went over amongst the boys.

" Take the cake?" Cartman repeated in a frustrated, yet fearful tone. His tone was reflected nicely in the open, gaping mouths of Stan and Kenny.

" What'd you mean, 'take the cake'?" Kyle demanded, his tone much more brutish than that of the Nazi. Shelia wagged her finger once more in her son's face.

" We're hiding the cake, so you boys can't steal any," her tone was as matter of fact as it ever had been. She couldn't have sounded more sure of anything really. Despite her obvious lack of faith in their self control, Kyle still attempted to pull on his best puppy dog, pleaseMommy look from his much younger days. He even felt his lower lip tremble as he declared the lie of the century.

He never would know how he kept his face straight saying it.

" Oh, Mom, we'd _never _do somethin' like that!"

His attempt was quite in vain. For all intents and purposes, he might not of even said a word. Shelia didn't hear a word, that much was certain. She just shook her head and flattened her palm down near her side. He knew what that meant. That was his mother's universal 'stop' sign. The simple motion that described in vivid detail what she wanted from him. As though to drive that part home, when next she spoke, her voice had a similar tone. A halting, flat tone that was nearly as harsh as the cutting look she gave the four boys.

" Don't argue with me, Bubbie,"

She brutally ended the conversation with that short statement. Not even the addition of her favorite pet name for her son could appease that certain end and its rough acceptance within the group.

" Yes, Mom. . . ." his voice dragged out of him in defeated syllables. Shelia curtly nodded at him just before Gerald placed a hand on Kyle's back. His touch was a lot kinder than his mother's tone. Still, he looked up at him wearing a look of youthful upset. Like his mother, his father was immune and unconcerned with his choice of looks.

" Alright, you boys get on outside and start blowing up those balloons while I take care of this," he instructed them, releasing his son. All around the other three, mouths opened in wretched protest to the very idea, " Mind your brother, Kyle,"

" Dude, wait. _We_ gotta help?" Stan interjected in a freshly emotional voice. There was fury mixed quite well with a touch of irk. Whatever objections he had, however, didn't compare to the outbursts that followed. Kenny ripped his hands in opposing directions, shaking his dirty head so hard, his flyway hair swung about his shoulders.

" Oh, fuck no!" the poor child yelled, clear as day. Shelia smacked him upside the head without any hesitation. Immediately thereafter, she wagged her finger so close to his nose, she nearly whacked that too.

" Kenny! Watch your mouth!" she order of him. Kenny looked ready to spout off several more words of questionable class when Cartman's overbearing voice broke out.

" I came for cake! I didn't come to set up this party!" he exclaimed, gripping his hands and shaking them. There was an unmatched disgust in his outraged eyes. Pointing to them, then the door, he made it undeniably clear how he felt about the turn of events, " Screw you guys! I'm goin' home!"

" Oh, no, you don't, Eric," Shelia started to grab his arm as he went towards the front door. The look he gave her, however, stopped her short. Instead, she slammed her hands onto her wide hips and gave the upstart child a look most women reserved for bugs, " If you want to come to this party, you're going to help him set up,"

The tone she used made it very clear that this was her final decision on the matter. It was not something any of them missed. Not even Cartman in his utter rage at it.

" I don't see Butters or none of them here. . ." Cartman still sneered under his breath. He didn't say it nearly loud enough for her to hear him, yet she drew back in a rudely offended way. After six years, she had obviously learned that whenever she couldn't hear what the Cartman boy said, it was never anything nice.

" What, what, _what_?"

" Nothing, Mom. We'll get right on that, Dad," Kyle rushed to say, cutting off whatever his heavy set friend might come up with as the retort. Ending this before something happened, the Jew grabbed hold of Cartman's shoulders. He jerked him around effortlessly and gave him a hearty push towards the back door. Grinning nervously at his mother, he shoved that fat, hissing Nazi out the door and into the backyard where whatever comments he made wouldn't be heard.

" Goddammit," Stan mumbled quietly as he reached out and wrapped his hand around the glaring McCormick's. He interlaced their dirt smeared fingers as he pulled him out the door. The door swung shut behind them, locking them once more in their own little world.

There, Kyle turned partly to face the others as they trooped off the porch and into the sunny, hot backyard. Stan held onto Kenny's hand loosely, their fingers barely strung together. Likewise, Kyle remained with his hands on Cartman's shoulders. His fingers dug into the soft fabric of the cotton there before he addressed the first thing that came to mind. He desperately wanted to distract his friends from the looming task of decorating the backyard, so he thought it and went with it in the same swing.

" Dude, Kenny, where's your parka?"

" Kahl, get your Jew hands offa me," Cartman sharply interrupted, abruptly moving his shoulders to shake away the lingering hands. Kyle tossed him the coldest look he could manage in the raging sun of the impending summer. It was a look that was thrown back passionately.

" Fine, Fat Boy," he spat out, tearing his hands off of the red shirt. Cartman tugged on the sleeves, muttering vaguely as he did about the filth of Jews. He was given the bird while Stan idly swung his hand back and forth. His fingers remained intertwined with Kenny's. Kenny didn't seem to mind.

" Shit. My bitch ass mom saw it an' thought it was too fuckin' ratty to wear, so she tossed it in the fuckin' trash. An' trash fuckin' came before I could get it out like last time," Kenny colorfully explained with a shrug and purse of the lips.

" Ha. Yer so fuckin' poor, you gotta get clothes outta the trash," Cartman teased, pushing a finger deep into Kenny's skinny cheek. His hand was smacked away with a whack of skin against skin. The smack didn't wipe the grin off his full face, but it did make Kenny's narrowed eyes relax again.

" Fuck you," he added on, as was his normal reaction to such playful razzing. Cartman merely snickered, ignoring all the brazen glares frequently given to him.

" Why didn't you just go buy a new one?" Stan asked, also ignoring the looks being exchanged between the two. Kenny went to answer, a tiny smile appearing on his face whenever he turned to look at the apathetically staring activist. He was immediately cut off by a hysterical laugh.

" Cause he's fuckin poor!" the Nazi pushed a finger again into Kenny's cheek as he mocked him. This time, however, Kenny punched him in the arm with a dark look. Cartman continued to laugh, unaffected. Six years of this routine had made them all immune. None of them even reacted to the physical violence.

" They don't make 'em like that no more," Kenny said in a voice that was similar to a whine. Had it been anyone other than Kenny McCormick, in fact, it would have been one. However, it was him, and he was not whining. His voice just took that turn as he pouted at his curious situation. The laughter died away as his companions took turns looking at him and one another.

" Really?" Kyle made it into a question, although it wasn't really one. The blond's head slowly and sadly bobbed in answer.

" Bummer," Stan said, swinging his hand a bit more. His eyes quickly averted from the somber eyes that were handed to him by that poor ruffian child. Looking away, then, Kenny sighed.

" So, no more parka?" the Jew lobbied, tilting his head to the side as if that might help him understand the change in views. Kenny's uncovered face stared right back before he shook his head. His hair fell in thick strands in his smudged face with slender cheeks. A strange sight indeed, it was.

" No more parka,"

" Seriouslah? We gotta listen to yer dumbass now?" Cartman's voice finally dropped that bantering quality as he frowned. His friend shrugged quite dramatically, his eyes widening around the edges in a physical version of the heavier one's previous statements.

" Dunno. I gonna try to find a new fuckin' style or somethin'. . . " Kenny answered good naturedly, even if he was mocking his friend. Having nothing else to say on the manner, he shrugged once more; this time with both shoulders, so that Stan's arm moved as they were still holding hands, " But, whatever,"

" That's weird," Kyle grumbled as the group followed him from the edge of the porch's last step and over to the two tables in the back. A relative silence descended on the four when they snatched up the balloons laying on one table. They worked while joking and poking fun about the others' abilities.

Weird.

That was a term often used freely amongst the four boys. They referred to many things, and people, as such. However, in the manner that Kyle used it, they rarely ever addressed themselves like that. At least, they hadn't in the past year. Before that, then, sure. Before that, things had been weird. Weird and strange and freaky and just plain fucked up. They hadn't even been able to explain, describe, or justify the majority of it. It was trips to Hell, goo filled celebrities, alien abductions, Pandemics with pan flute musicians, zombie infections, government cover ups, Wal-Mart invasions, talking towels, and more. It was unquestionable, unbelievable, and undeniable. They couldn't explain a single shred of it to anyone without getting recommendations for local insane asylums. Yet, not a bit of it was made up or imagined, no matter how much they wished it was.

Of course, few believed that. The majority thought they were pathological liars or had overactive imaginations. Those who did believe were the other children of South Park. They would stand there, gathered in a half circle, and they would believe. They would gasp and step back and cover their mouths and they would believe. That might have been childhood gullibility. That might have been a desperate snatch at long lost fairy tales. Whatever it was, it was belief and that had made all the difference.

For two years, those four boys had clung to that belief. If the other children believed them, then they weren't crazy. They didn't have to press their hands over their ears and scream IamNOTinsane to be considered normal. They just had to huddle together, their mass of four gleefully hardened eyes glowing, and weave their tales to the mass of shocked eyes eager for more. Then they would be normal. They wouldn't be weird. And they didn't want to be weird. They might apply that term to everyone else and everything else, but not themselves.

Because if they were weird, then they were weird.

Simple as that.

Weird, though, had not been happening as of lately. Weird had all but virtually disappeared from their lives. The random chases with motorcycles, the pirating, the gangs of talk show freaks, and the schemes had vanished into the days of yesterday. Just as it had begun, there was no explanation. The boys hadn't changed a thing in their lives. They continued about the same paths. Along the way, though, they noticed the lack of people tracking them down or enlisting their help. Whereas they were happy to know they weren't on any hit lists that they knew of, they were slightly confused. More than slightly, honestly. Still, they could offer no explanation about how or why. They only knew that 'weird' no longer applied.

Which was, ironically, weird.

Like how it was weird that they were all laughing like the best of friends as they moved through the balloons and onto the streamers. Cartman danced around, singing Lady Gaga's Pokerface while Kenny shoved two of the biggest balloons down Stan's shirt. The activist then bolted around the yard, waving his arms, as Kenny chased him, shrieking about breasts and titties and boobies and all of the above. Kyle was dragged into a dance with the Nazi, who snatched up his hands. They slow danced around in a circle, cheek to cheek, while Ken tackled Stan to the dirt. Then everyone was rolling with hysterics as the balloons popped and Ken mourned their deaths. They hadn't acted this weird in some time. And that was weird. In a good way, though. An incredibly good way.

As Kyle was helping Stan up from his assault, however, they all heard the doorbell ringing in the distance. Kyle saluted his friends before jogging from the giggling gang and to the backdoor. Into the chilled house he ducked, holding onto his hat. When he reached the front door, he could hear his mother hollering for him to answer the door. He was in the middle of telling her he was when he opened said door.

The second after he did, Kyle was pulled into two different sets of arms at the same time. His line of sight was drowned in wavy blond and sleek black, followed by shimmering eyes outlined in black liner. The girls of the gang, BeBe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger, pushed their lip glossed lips to his cheeks. Their smacking pops echoed in the doorway. Drawing away, they beamed up at him. Blinking, Kyle wiped the gloss away onto the back of his hand. They didn't seem to mind one tiny bit. Rather, they just walked into the house, BeBe in her bikini and Wendy in her shorts and shirt combo.

" Happy Birthday, Kyle," Wendy said, gripping his free hand while he swung the door shut again. BeBe repeated the sediment, " Are we late for the party?"

" Actually, you're the first ones. Besides the boys," he answered, taking the two offered presents wrapped in matching pink paper. The pink was such an obnoxiously bright shade he nearly left them in the living room. Instead, he swallowed his pride and held onto them.

" Well, yeah, that goes without saying. You four are, like, inseparable," BeBe stated as a matter of factly, rolling her eyes. She didn't have the perfection to her eye roll that Cartman did. Nevertheless, she got her point across. It was a point that made Wendy jeer and Kyle sneer. Together, they pushed their fingers into her back during the short trip through the house to the backyard. The three thus giggled until they were stepping into the grass.

Once there, the three boys stopped their fooling around long enough to wave and greet the girls. Kyle placed their presents on one of the table by the back. Wendy walked over to Stan and gave him a tender kiss on his cheek. Cartman, on the other hand, cupped his hands over his mouth.

" 'Ey! Put some clothes on, BeBe!" he shouted, laughingly, at her suddenly sour expression. She flipped him the bird, but it was no use. Cartman continued to screech obscenities in her direction until she screamed. She started to chase him around the yard. Even that made him laugh, running just out of her grip, " Come on, you fat bitch! Ya can run fasta than that!"

" Shut UP, Cartman!" she wildly shrieked, snatching blindly at his shirt. They ran about the yard as such, Kyle belting out an order for them to avoid Ike, who was playing idly in the grass. As they did, Wendy turned and looked at where Kenny was standing. He gave her a signature unconcerned look.

" Kenny. You're not wearing your parka," Wendy formally expressed, waving her finger up and down as she said it. Kenny scrunched up his nose briefly in what might have been frustration. When he spoke, of course, there was nothing but his generally agitated, semi monotone voice with it's barely there Southern accent.

" Yeah, so what of it, bitch?"

" Wow," her voice was full of awe. Awe that was widely seen in her doe eyed expression, " So that's what you really sound like,"

" Don't call my girlfriend a bitch," Stan interjected out of obligation. The moment he said it, Kenny's nose bunched up and he jerked his head away. Had BeBe not just tackled Cartman's snickering self to the ground with a karate exclamation, they might not have a justifiable reason for the poor boy's reaction. As it was, she had and she proceeded to whack him in the back of the head. For his defense, Cartman remained unfazed and just banged his hands into the ground as he roared with laughter.

Finding this useless, it appeared, BeBe climbed off Cartman. She dusted off her butt with a smack, then marched defiantly over to the main group. Wendy launched into a lengthy praising of her actions. Kyle grinned at the display, then turned to head over to where his fat friend remained on the ground. He could see Cartman laying on his back, hands over his face, as he giggled at his own inside jokes. The Jew's grin softened to a small smile that seemed almost too perverse to show. Thus, he relished the ringing of the doorbell that interrupted the festivities.

Again, Kyle waved and left the group to go let in some more party guests. As he was approaching the door, he heard two simultaneous sounds that automatically gave their identities away. A loud exclamation of 'Shit' and 'Gah'. Opening up the door, then, he certainly wasn't surprised to see Craig Tucker and his gang of friends: Clyde Donavan, Tweek Tweak, Thomas Smith, and Token Black. They all smiled and greeted him in their own styles, holding presents out in the same way ticket holders to a VIP club held out tickets. Kyle collected the presents as Craig flipped him the bird and walked on inside without invitation. The others quickly piled in after him.

As far as Kyle could tell, all of the boys other than Token were wearing the same clothes that they'd been wearing the day beforehand. Craig was in the same alien tee shirt with the same deep midnight blue jeans on. His hair was still hidden under his knit cap. Clyde was still in his burgundy tee with the hole in the corner from a prank by the Jew and Stan. His jeans looked a little tight and his shirt was snug at his waist, but, yes, they were the same ones from before. Likewise, Tweek was dressed in the light green button down and black slacks from the previous day. The only difference was that the incorrectly fastened buttons were adjusted and his hair appeared even more wrecked. Thomas even was wearing his red plaid shirt and blue jean shorts from before. His hair was also a mess. Token, though, was wearing a pressed white shirt and some nice, crisp jeans.

Obviously, their group had been having a sleep over. Kyle was almost jealous, since he'd hoped to have one that year. Of course, his mother had buried that idea beneath all sorts of complaints about contacting parents. After all, she had firmly stated, she would have to get permission from ones outside of the Marshes, the McCormicks, and Mrs. Cartman. Still, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy as he noticed the tell tale signs of a sleep over.

" I don't see the cake anywhere in the kitchen," Craig snapped suddenly. His voice jolted Kyle out of his momentarily lapse of conscious thought. For a second, he was startled and unsure what was said. Once figuring it out, though, he shook his head and motioned in a random direction.

" My parents put it up to prevent theft,"

" GAH! That's good! Don't need any more temptation!" Tweek shouted in his normal manner of speaking. His inner voice echoed in the still of the house, but Kyle didn't bother telling him to be quiet. There was no use. Tweek Tweak really had no idea what the word meant.

" Was that a shot?" Clyde demanded, hands crossing rather violently over the small bulge of his stomach. Tweek nearly jumped out of his skin at the accusation. His eyes widened to saucers as his chest rapidly rose and fell in the panic that usually overthrew the blond child.

" What? No! That was directed at me!" he pushed his shaking hands into his gasping chest. Clyde rolled his eyes, making the tiniest of disapproving looks.

" Yeah, because you eat a lot," was the answer Tweek was given. He was given more than that when Clyde shot him a particularly nasty look that was borderline glare without ever crossing that line. He didn't get to give the shaking tweeker any more, though, for Token raised up his hand in a familiar 'stop' manner. The look on his dark, tense face said enough about how he felt concerning the topic of conversation that seemed to be amusing every one else. He didn't need to say a word, yet he said several. Each one made most of the boys in the room a bit more than uneasy.

" Okay guys. Let's stop acting like fags,"

Really, it was just the way Token pronounced the word 'fag'. Sure, it was a common insult. When he used it, though, it sounded dirty. None of them could explain it. That's just how they felt. As such, an uneasy silence fell upon the group as they slowly, but surely, made their way from the backdoor to the front. At last, the silence was broken. This time, by a well placed and uncontrollable Tourette's curse word.

" SHIT," Thomas exclaimed in that strained, forced voice that he only used when spouting the obscenities that came with his disorder. Ever since Craig had introduced everyone to him two years ago, though, his swearing was expected. For the majority of the student population, it was about as 'annoying' as Tweek's permanent twitching. Like this majority, Kyle truly didn't mind in. In fact, he'd missed it.

" I'm glad you could make it, Thomas," he informed the meekly smiling boy. The two lightly embraced, rocking slightly forth side to side, " I never get to see you anymore,"

" That might be changing," Thomas happily said in his normal, light and airy voice with it's practically unnoticeable accent. Kyle couldn't help but break into a wide smile as he looped arms with his long distance friend. The others all stared in similar fashions, smiles crossing all their faces in excitement," My mother COCKSUCKER, sorry, is thinking of moving us to this side of South Park,"

" You're going to be going to school with us?" Craig hurried to ask. His normally flat voice grew heavy with anxiety in a completely strange fashion. Unfortunately, Thomas shook his head and exhaled a deeply frustrated breath. It was obvious he had been thinking the same at one time.

" No. FUCK. I still have to go to that 'special'," his eyes rolled and a face of disgust fell over his fair features as he did the air quotes to further add a touch of sarcasm to the word, "school,"

Craig's face fell as much as it could considering he never wore an expression of really any kind. The others' crashed down, with Clyde's eyes actually filling with tears. Before he could break down in customary sobs as readily accepted as the frequent cursing and random outbursts of the caffeinated kind, the doorbell rang out in the house. Kyle apologized and left them to walk the next few feet outside on their own. They all gave him waves before Craig led them into the sunny sun, where they were greeted by the overly loud Cartman shouting something obscene at them. Leaving them to it, the birthday boy bustled over to the door. Opening it, he laughed a little and was forced into a smile by the simple innocence he was met with.

" Golly, Kyle. What's so funny?" Butters shyly asked, tilting his head from one side to the other. The Jew shook his hands in front of him. He couldn't bring himself to say that he was snickering at that bright pink shirt and those unsuspecting eyes with their childish gullibility, " Aw, hamburgers. . . Well, Happy birthday,"

" Thanks, Butters. Come in, come in," he pulled him in by his sleeve with disregard for his safety. The blond bobbed from the action, but merely smiled happily. He handed over his equally brightly wrapped present to the small stack growing in Kyle's arms.

Butters beamed up at him, rubbing his knuckles together in that peculiar habit of his. His short hair was fluffier than normal, but otherwise he looked the same as always. The only real difference was that shirt. It was a pretty pastel pink with a deeper pink heart on it. Although Kyle decidedly ignored the flamboyant factor, he knew a certain Nazi certainly would not. Still, that was Butters' problem and he would have to live with it for daring to wear such a thing to a public affair. Thus, Kyle didn't acknowledge it as he grabbed the door handle.

He was shutting the door, he saw the remaining girls from his class walking up the street. When they saw that he was holding the door for them, they hurried a bit faster in a bizarre kind of power walk shuffle. However outlandish it was, it did get them there as fast as when he saw the guys jog. Unlike when BeBe and Wendy arrived, Red and her friends didn't exchange kisses. They just said happy birthday and held up their presents; again, as if those gift wrapped items were their tickets inside. Kyle motioned for them to come inside. Single file, they flooded, giggling, into his living room. He recognized most of them from school. Despite not knowing one of the girls, he take the lead towards the backyard. Butters stayed close enough to him that he could hear his quick paced footsteps prancing over the floorboards in an effort to keep up with the Jew's long strides.

Outside in the yard, the kids were trolling around. Some chips had been brought out and were laying on one of the tables. Craig and Clyde were idly standing by them, snacking, while Tweek frantically talked to Token and Thomas. BeBe and Wendy were arm and arm, drinking from red plastic cups. They were a few feet in front of Kyle's closest friends. Cartman kept waving his hands, a high sign that he was bored with the conversation. Stan was impossible to read and Kenny's mouth was moving, so he had to of been the one talking to them. It was in this direction Kyle started to walk, Butters tailing him. Kyle's arm was snatched up and he was jerked back after one step, though. Red leaned in close and pointed past him.

" Who's the blond kid? Your cousin?" she inquired with wide eyes and an equally wide smile. Kyle blinked, briefly glancing at Butters, before turning his eyes to follow her finger. She was gesturing in the direction he was headed.

" Huh? What? That?" he stated flatly, pointing at the wildly laughing ruffian child, " No, that's Kenny,"

" Kenny? Kenny _McCormick_?"

" Yeah. He doesn't have his parka on," Kyle shrugged, truly unconcerned with whatever angle she was working. Red continued to stare at that dirty child. Actually, she stared at him a lot longer than Kyle was prepared to deal with. Figuring her not worth it, he attempted to leave. She caught his arm yet again when he did.

" He's really cute,"

" Uhhh. . . yeah, whatever," he mumbled uncomfortably, yanking his arm from her chuckling grasp. Looping arms with Butters, Kyle steered him away from that simpering female. Red, of course, trailed after them, eagerly eyeing Kenny.

As they were walking over, Kyle got a word about Wendy's mother and her recent development of obsession. Of course, that was old news to him. He'd already heard about Mrs. Testaburger's diet and her decision to take down her family from Stan. He was, after all, Wendy's boyfriend; on and off, but, nevertheless. He thus tuned out the conversation as Butters and him veered towards Cartman's heavy frame. Red, on the other hand, moved towards Kenny. As luck would have it, she did so right after Wendy had finished her tale about her mother's radical veto against dessert and her unheard of portion control.

" So, that do you think, Kenny?" Wendy asked, sipping from her cup.

" I think that shit is mothafuckin' _bull_shit, bitch," Kenny snapped, his voice rising up some of the edge it gained when his emotions were uncurling underneath his unmoved eyes and borderline frozen face, " You shouldn't fuckin' take that from no dumbass, cocksuckin' whore of a son of a cunt fuckin' bitch! I say FUCK them assholes! Goddammit, woman, grow some fuckin' balls and stand up fer yer fuckin' self, you dumb fuck! Seriously, dude. That shit is _fucked_ up! I don't fuckin' care if she is yer motha!"

The look of unadulterated horror that bathed Red's face painted a clear image for all of them to see. And that simply was that she had never, in her entire life, properly made out the things Kenny said. For while not a one of them were even remotely surprised, she looked downright sick to her stomach. In fact, when Wendy nodded in agreement to his stunningly profane advice, Red jerked in the other direction. Shell shocked, she darted from them, and into the unsuspecting clutches of her friends. Kyle could have sworn he saw her start to cry as he positioned himself beside where Cartman was leaning with one arm folded on Butters' shoulder. When he did so, his Nazi counterpart jabbed a finger in the direction of the one girl whom Kyle did not know. The Jew turned his head to see her as she approached the group.

" Who's that bitch?" Cartman frankly questioned. Kyle gave a one armed shrug without any heart to it.

" Dunno. I just let her in because she had a present,"

" That's Millie," BeBe answered for them, motioning for the shy brunette to enter the inner circle. She did so with a tiny wave, " You don't remember her? She's been in our grade since, like, preschool,"

" Happy birthday, Kyle," Millie greeted them in a mild mannered voice that was barely loud enough to be heard over the other conversations. Kyle could quite honestly say, for whatever prize or price, that, no, he did not remember her. However, his arms were growing heavy with presents he needed to set down and she had come to his party. Thus, he smiled at her fearful eyes.

" Oh, yeah. Thanks. Glad you could make it,"

" Gawd, you are too nice," Cartman sneered, shaking his head and waving the Jew off with that lovely dismal wave he loved to use. Kyle shot him a glare as he shoved the gifts into the steadily growing pile.

" Bite me, Fat Boy," he barked harshly, feeling a trickle of that burning sensation all over again. He wanted to feel it once more time before this whole thing got going. He couldn't, however, feed the proverbial flames. For the doorbell rang yet again and he had to leave the group to go answer it.

Grumbling at his luck, he suppressed the bubbling rage that felt so yummy in the pit of his tummy. Instead, he trooped through his house and to the front door. He swept open the door and was assaulted by a popping burst of confetti and laughter. Instantly, the feelings of regret for having missed a chance to ring that fat Nazi out disappeared. He couldn't possibly stay mad at the chuckling two people on the doorstep, tossing up the confetti and waving noise makers over their heads.

" Jimmy! Timmy! Hey, dudes!" he shouted over their noise. He cracked knuckles with the Crips members, accepting the two haphazardly wrapped presents," Thanks, man,"

" Ha-ha-hap-happ-_py_ birth-birthday, Ky-ky-kyle," Jimmy stuttered to say with his classic smile. Behind him, Timmy shook and spun the bright noise makers, grinning excitedly. Kyle ushered them into his house, holding the door open with his foot. They came inside with another burst of confetti that caused the Jew to snicker, " We thou-though-thought you wo-wo-would like th-tha-that,"

" Yeah. Thanks,"

" TIMMAH!"

" Come on. You two are the last ones," Kyle told them as he started to lead them towards the backyard. He didn't bother cleaning up the explosion of color that now littered his doorway. As far as he was concerned, it was his party, and if he had to set it up, he sure as hell wasn't going to clean up after it.

" Fa-fa-fashion-ab-ab-ab_ly_ la-la-late then," Jimmy assured him with a cocky grin and a wink as best he could. Kyle grinned at that, taking the lead in the short walk from one door to the next, " Wh-wh-where's the ca-ca-cake at? I wa-wa-want to se-se-see this th-th-thing,"

" Sorry, guys. My parents hid it so no one could steal any,"

" W-w-well, th-th-th-that sucks very much,"

" Tell me about it," Kyle mumbled, opening up the back door for the two handi-capable kids of their little, mountain town. They went out and into the crowd that waved them over. Kyle, along with Craig and Token, helped Timmy's wheelchair down into the grass.

Then, leaving them to throwing confetti on the shrieking girls who wanted to be covered in it, Kyle made his way back to his gang. Along the way, he dusted the colored strips of paper from his shirt and shorts. When he walked over and again planted himself next to Cartman, the Nazi absentmindedly plucked one stray piece from his hat. They exchanged a blank stare, made faces, and then turned back as Wendy shook her hands in that feminine manner of gathering attention.

" So, did you guys hear about Mr. Garrison?" she implored of the group, allowing her eyes to grow bigger as she did. Several of them cast outward glances as though they weren't sure which piece of gossip she was referring to. Of course, considering the person of discussion, that was probably quite the case.

" What, the sex change?" Stan suggested with an accompanying eye roll made to look so apathetic for the bland look about his face. Kyle gave Stan a mildly disgusted glance.

" Mr. Garrison had a sex change?" he exclaimed in shock. Stan nodded vaguely while his girlfriend shook her head energetically.

" No, no, no. Not that," she snapped in her normal way. Kyle didn't hear a word she said. He just continued to stare at his best friend in surprise.

" Again?"

" Yeah, now he's got titties and a penis," Stan explained, gesturing first to his own chest and then between his legs. Cartman snickered while Wendy glared at all three of the boys. Neither of them, though, offended her as much as the lewd Kenny, whose face contorted into the definition of a perverse look.

" Titties. Heh," the poor boy sneered under his breath, turning his sapphire eyes to look at BeBe's chest. As she was dressed in only a bikini, she was forced to hold both arms in front of it to avoid that penetrating stare.

" So, he's both now?" Cartman didn't sound like he needed an answer, but Stan gave it to him anyways.

" Yup,"

" Is he gay or straight?" Kyle questioned, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to visualize this situation. Recalling quickly the incident considering Mr. Garrison, Mr. Slave, and Lemmiwinks, however, he immediately ceased that venture. The very last image he needed was that traumatizing day in class.

" Not sure," Stan admitted, taking a sip from Wendy's glass of punch and/or soda; Kyle couldn't tell.

" He's bi," BeBe interjected, slowly lowering her arms. When Kenny grinned at her, she moved them back into place at her developing bosom.

" It's not that!" Wendy hissed, her already shrill voice raising in pitch. Stan gave her a look that appeared to be one of mild agitation. Nevertheless, he patted her shoulder in that comforting sort of way all boyfriends' were supposed to.

" Well, then what is it, you dumb bitch?" the Nazi retorted with the same tone of voice that she had used. Cartman was just better at keeping his tone even and balanced. In the end, that was the difference between sounding hysterical like she did and vicious like he did. No matter how vicious he sounded, though, didn't matter to Stan. The activist smacked him in the arm.

" Don't call my girlfriend a bitch!"

" Mr. Garrison got his Doctorate," Wendy said instead of praising her boyfriend for his display of protection. Doing so made Stan cast her that look from before. It did, though, successfully prevent a fist fight from breaking out amongst the four boys always itching for a reason to fight.

" He's a doctor now?" Butters exclaimed in that extremely light voice of his. Wendy shook her head, but before she could explain, Kyle patted Butters' back and cut in. He didn't truly mean to cut her off. Yet, he received the same level of dark look.

" No, no. That means he can teach at the college level,"

" So, what? Now he's teaching college?" Cartman put his free hand on his full hip as he asked, although his eyes were bored with the conversation. Stan gave him a bewildered look that was all kinds of Idunno. Thankfully, one of them had the answer.

" No. The college wouldn't hire him," Wendy said it in an even tone that she should have used when speaking to Cartman before. He rolled his eyes in that practiced, poised way he did. A slow, small smile formed on Kyle's lips as he observed it before BeBe caught their attention by crossing her arms. Kenny's face perked right back up at the sight of her polka dot bikini top.

" So, then, where's he working?" the blond girl demanded. She seemed to completely ignore the obvious leer her chest was receiving from those joyfully wide eyes.

" He's working at the high school," Wendy informed them all, pausing to finish off whatever she was drinking, " He's teaching English,"

" Wait. So, he's still a 'he'?" Kyle interrupted with a frantic wave of his hands. Cartman snickered at the comment, but BeBe shook her head. Stan, on the other hand, gave a halfhearted, one armed shrug that really meant nothing.

" Yeah, I think so,"

" No. He's a she," BeBe corrected the activist sharply.

" You're missing the point," Wendy whined in what could only be described as a whine. Her voice never went to that point, but there was just no other description. Her whining, however, was met with brutal upset from her usual rival.

" Well, what the hell is the point? Who gives a crap if he's workin' at the high school?" Cartman barked at her, talking with his hands. They moved in short, jerking motions that whispered anger and screamed annoyance. His voice was no kinder, but it was his movements that drove the point home. Whereas the majority of people would ignore the bait to avoid the fight, Wendy bit down and shoved back.

" Because he's working at the high school!" was her snarky response, her eyes glowing with a faint need to scream and grab at her hair. Stan eased his hand over her shoulder, but it was shaken away neat and nicely. He thus drew back with a sour as lemons look and turned to face the boys.

" So?" Cartman snapped without hesitation. She could look however she wanted. It was nothing compared to the appearance of true longing in his eyes. That unmistakable longing to pull his hand back and smack her hard enough to make her head tear in a ninety degree angle to the right, " We aren't even in middle school yet! By the time we get to high school, he'll probably be dead!"

" Sure as hell won't be fuckin' teachin'," Kenny muttered in a voice that was hardly a mutter without that parka there to muffle it.

" No. She's right. With our luck, we'll get him," Kyle found himself saying. He knew why he was doing it. He didn't want the two of them to get into a fight. If anyone actually got into a fight, the party would quickly be over. Knowing it was best to nip it in the blooming bud, then, he sided with Wendy. And proceeded to get a dark look from his fat friend.

" Goddammit," Stan groaned out, squeezing his forefinger and thumb over the bridge of his nose like he did when frustrated. The feeling seemed almost mutual amongst the group of kids.

" Thank you, Kyle," Wendy happily said, smiling at him. He merely looked away towards the rest of his party.

" Whatever,"

" Golly, I don't think he's so bad," Butters finally said something, rubbing his knuckles together as he always did.

" You wouldn't," Cartman sneered out, looking away from the boy he remained leaning on. Butters pouted at the comment, but didn't have a chance to say a thing about it. Before he could, Craig and his gang of boys moved their circle from the food to their's.

" Are you guys talking about that camper who disappeared up by Stark's Pond?" Craig's question was met with shock. Wendy and BeBe both drew back, their eyes widening at the sheer callous way he said it. Butters mumbled under his breath about having heard something on the news.

" I didn't hear anything about that!" BeBe declared, her voice rising slightly at the idea of such a thing occurring. Clyde nodded somberly.

" An out of towner came up to trek the mountains and stopped at the pond. They haven't seen her since," Craig told them, pointing off to the distance where the peaks of the Rockies loomed in their natural glory. Wendy shook her head at that; the movement of someone who doesn't believe what they're hearing. BeBe pressed for further details by waving her hands in a small circle, " That's all the information the news had about it. It only happened two days ago,"

" No! That's not true! GAH! They found the rock they bashed her head in with! It was coated in blood! She's dead, I tell you, man! Dead!" Tweek cried out, his lime green livid with panic. That panic coursed through the air as the girls huddled close together and took in the details that were available.

Slowly, cautiously, Kyle, Kenny, Stan, and Cartman looked at one another. Around them, there was the frantic chatter of longing gossip. Between them, there was resilient silence. Kyle shuddered, Kenny pursed his lips, Stan bit his lower one, and Cartman smiled an icy grin. Silence remained, but the words spoken danced in the heavy, hot, fiery air. Not an utterance was shared. They glanced, they saw, they shared, and they returned to the noise that could never see what they saw in the trembling truths of the embers below their emerald, sapphire, aquamarine, and topaz eyes.

The jewels in the rough never were seen until found.

The tension was then shattered into pieces when Gerald and Shelia came out of the house. Shelia began to place trays of veggies and mini snacks on the second back table. Gerald, on the other hand, had his arms full of party hats and children's games. The guests snatched up pointed hats, laughing and snickering at them. Everyone except for Cartman, who declined the offer when Gerald offered him one. With the hats handed out, Gerald set up a Pin the Tail and other such games that required a lot of luck and not a lot of talent to play.

From there, the party broke out of control.

The children went to pieces trying to out do one another. The boys grabbed up the tails and set about chasing the girls, stabbing at them. The barrel for bobbing for apples was raided by the children. The fruit was then used as ammunition in a food fight that Shelia quickly put a stop to. The leftover water was then dumped all over BeBe for daring to come in her swimsuit. Soaking wet, however, she darted to the hose and cranked it on high. While she sprayed anyone close enough, including Millie and Tweek, Kenny and Cartman snatched up as much food as they could. They were soon in a tug of war over the bowl of Cheesy Poofs with Craig and Clyde. All four boys screamed curse words and struggled for control, calling out to their friends for assistance. Kyle and Stan grabbed hold of Cartman's waist and pulled as Token and Thomas wrapped their arms around Craig's. The battle continued in vain until Timmy wheeled by, grabbing the bowl right out of their hands. He drove in a circle as they all crashed into each other and the dirt.

A chase for the puffs ensued then, starting when Kenny screamed 'This is war fucker'. Timmy went around the yard at full speed with the whole of the boys, outside of Jimmy, right on his wheels. Whenever they passed in front of BeBe, she hosed them down. In the summer heat, it was a practical Godsend, although several of them continually flashed her the bird. The chase didn't come to a stop until the girls grew tired of being left out. They grabbed up the discarded donkey tails and bolted over to the nearest boy. As the boys flew into a panicked dash to escape, they grabbed up tees and stuck those pins into butts and arms as they saw fit. Screaming madness thus descended over the backyard. It would have been a completely normal madness, too, had not every one of those kids disappeared one by one over the course of two hours. Despite their various excuses of bathroom breaks or need for some air conditioning, they all knew just what was going on. From birthday boy to unknown Millie, they all ducked inside that house to search for the missing cake. They would be gone for next to ten minutes before returning with crestfallen looks on their faces before being caught up in the wildness going on. For no matter who looked nor for however long, none of them could locate that ten tier dream.

But not for lack of trying. No.

Nearing noon, though, Kyle spotted what it was he'd been waiting for. Shelia eased up to Gerald and whispered something in his ear. To that, his father nodded and headed up to the house. He went in, checking over his shoulder to be sure he wasn't being followed. He never saw Kyle eyeing him, watching his every move. He timed it, too. He waited and he timed it. It took his father next to nine minutes to come back out again. When he did, he went right over to Shelia to whisper back into her ear. She nodded firmly and, then, the two of them shouted for the children to gather around.

" How would you kids like to play on the slip n slide?" Gerald called out to the wide eyed, dirt stained crowd. Immediately, all the kids squealed and shrieked, tossing their hands up into the air and jumping wildly. They all screamed they had remembered to bring their swimsuits, " Alright, alright! I'll get everything ready!"

Gerald was barely heard over the scrambling to strip out of tees and shorts and into the bathing suits they had on underneath. Almost all the kids were down to their trunks or bikinis by the time he had pulled out the slide. As he struggled with it, and got some much needed help from Stan, Kyle slipped around to the stairs and ducked right into the house for the third time that day. Into the kitchen he walked, his face smoothing into a wide grin.

Seated upon the table in all it's magnificent glory was the ten tiered birthday cake of his wildest dreams. The frosting was glazed over in cold sugary seduction, calling to him to be tasted for the first time. Kyle found himself drawn tableside by the yearning to run his finger over it. The resistance to that temptation was monstrous at it's best performance. Yet, he resisted. He clenched his fists as his sides and he left that lime green beauty where it was perched.

Rather, Kyle went back into the burning heat of the looming summer sun. The hose was on the slip n slide that all the children were gathered around at. Only three of the children remained in their clothing. Those three, of course, were his best friends. Stan wasn't going swimming; he'd said so when he got his invitation. Cartman certainly wasn't going swimming; he'd also said so, as he'd rather watch the idiots; which he'd also said. Kenny, though, was going swimming. He just couldn't afford a swimsuit. He fully intended on just slipping and sliding in whatever he happened to be wearing.

Over to these three, Kyle went. Only, he did so rather quietly. He knew he wouldn't be heard over the shrieking of Red as she and Millie went down the slide together, but still he was quiet. He approached Cartman unheard and eased up close, so that their cheeks were practically touching. Smiling, Kyle wrapped both of his arms tightly about one of the Nazi's and whispered softly into his ear. He did so to make sure he wasn't overheard, yet he couldn't help but think how much more important his request sounded while doing so.

" I need you to come with me,"

" I wanna see Tweek on the slipnslide!" Cartman protested, looking with only his eyes at the Jew. Kyle frowned momentarily before pressing his cheek deep into the other's plump arm.

" I need you to come with me, _now_," he breathed out in a voice that was punctured with command. He felt that command, that hardness, in his eyes as much as he heard it. The feeling was hot, but not nearly as hot as rage. Hot like water, running over the flesh, growing hot and cold as it moves. That was how the command moved from his lips to his eyes and to Cartman's ears. He saw it brush it's fiery fingertips over his counterpart's skin in the way those honey sugar eyes glanced towards him in the slowest glance possible.

" Okay, okay, okay,"

Casting him a small smile, Kyle slipped his hands down. He tangled them in Cartman's plump fingers and gave the tiniest of tugs. As such, he led him away from the unnoticing party. Their disappearance was vastly overshadowed by Kenny shoving Clyde, kicking and screaming and crying, onto the slip and slide back first. The door then swung shut behind them, blocking out the majority of the sound coming from the crowd's response to the attack. The two of them were left standing in the chilled kitchen. With the birthday cake.

" Holy shit, it's the cake," Cartman exclaimed, pointing at the thing where it was on the kitchen table. Kyle pulled him right up to the table so that he could see it's luscious appeal, " Been lookin' for that all day,"

" Yeah, my dad just brought out of hiding,"

" Why're you tellin' me?" his voice lost the surprise to the leering effect of confusion and distrust. His honey eyes darkened as he finally wiggled his fingers from Kyle's semi tight grasp. Kyle rested his fingers on the table, staring at the cake instead of his friend. He stole glances only to gauge the response to what it was he said.

" No reason. I just wanted to, y'know, brag," Kyle mumbled, shrugging in an attempt to seem unconcerned. One glance and he knew that Cartman was seeing straight through his act and through him. He knew it more when his friend shook his head and pointed at him.

" Bullcrap. I ain't buyin' that for a fuckin' minute,"

" What's it matter, Cartman?" he asked, deciding to avoid the question all together. While his attempt was not in vain, it was met with a worse question.

" You tryin' to get me in trouble?" the Nazi's eyes narrowed slightly. There was a world of possible responses to the answer, but not a one to satisfy the look the Jew spied there. Those eyes were such a light color, but how dark they appeared. Their suspicions deepened that rich hue to the point of changing the shade. No, there was not an answer to be had to satisfy them.

" In trouble how? For looking?" Kyle pried nonchalantly. For all his word choices, though, his meaning was quickly deduced. Cartman never said he knew what was implied, but he did nothing to hide that revelation within his orbs. Kyle swallowed hard, rough, and dry as that fat friend of his motioned to the thick layers of frosting piled upon the tiers.

" Nooo. For tastin',"

" No one said you had to taste it,"

" No one said I couldn't," Cartman stated with great finality. This conversation was going nowhere fast and he wasn't about to let it. The brief flash of pearly whites made that impressively clear. That dry swallow repeated itself as Kyle gripped the table with his fingertips alone.

" I just wanted to show you. That it was here," his voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears. There was a tightness running from his grip to his chest. A heartbeat was skipped. A fire was building. He could barely keep from running, from bolting, and leaving him there for whatever decision was made. He couldn't say it.

He couldn't.

" Yeah, but _why_?" Cartman cooed out, his hands moving along the air as thought interrogating it as well as the birthday boy. Neither was willing to hand over the answer without more pressure.

" Whatever. It doesn't matter,"

" Oh, it matters," the airy coo was choked out by the outburst of trustless accusations of the implied intentions. Kyle gritted his teeth at every word, longing profoundly for a way to disappear and leave him be, " I'm not gettin' thrown out of this party for tastin' this cake because yer a fuckin' Jew an' set me up,"

" Like I said, you don't _have_ to taste it," Kyle restated in a toneless voice. His heart pounded deep within his chest. There was a frantic struggle to gather composure that had never left him. He remained as calm as when he'd slipped inside that kitchen. He just couldn't get his heart to stop beating so fast.

Either way, his words hung in the air uncertainly. There was a long, steady pause of pulsing glances towards that blank, fat face. Kyle waited in dreadful anticipation, his heart skipping and jolting beats within. Cartman gave him nothing. He raised his eyes up and down and along the creamy green buttercreme. There was a building hunger in those eyes that grew only that much worse the longer the response was withheld. Still, nothing was uttered. Nothing. Nothing at all. Until Kyle dug his fingers into the wood of the table and Cartman's voice smoothed into the air like silk.

" Will you tell your mom if I do?"

" No."

" How'm I supposed to trust you?" his words were pierced by that hollow sounding mistrust. Each word became a solitary shot with a bullet dipped in poison of the verbal kind. Kyle shuddered before raising his eyes up to the face that looked right through him as only Cartman could.

" Why would I bring you in here when everyone else was distracted if I wanted you to get caught?" Kyle demanded in a soft sound that was a far cry from his usual brash voice. Cartman frowned at the question, but his eyes never looked confused, never looked unsure. He was sure this was a trap and he was doing his best not to be sweet talked into it.

" I don't know,"

" I won't tell,"

" How do I know that?" Cartman implored, crossing his arms over the massive bulge to his heavy belly. A touch of fire eased over Kyle's face, running like that ember water to his curling toes and clenching hands. He couldn't speak for a moment and when he regained the talent, he knew not to say how Cartman could trust him. He nearly blurted it out, but he resisted the sweet temptation.

" Six years of friendship and you don't know that?" Kyle pressed, lying through his teeth. Cartman rolled his eyes with that lovely arch of sarcastic displeasure.

" We're not friends,"

" Maybe we could be," Kyle suggested in the shyest tone he had ever used in the whole of his life. Whatever effect it had on the Nazi, however, went unknown to the Jew.

" _Sounds _like you're tryin' to set me up," Cartman stated in a voice that was much more like an accusation than anything. His hands unfolded and came to rest upon his plump hips with just enough force to shift his weight. A tinge of rouge blurred Kyle's vision in a ruby haze that mimicked dancing flames touched by the breath of a lover.

" Look," he said curtly, grabbing hold of the table with much more force, " If this goes on much longer, the games are gonna be over with,"

Kyle never mentioned why that was important. He didn't need to.

" You swear?"

" I swear. I promise. I don't break my promises,"

" I mean it, Kahl. If this is a set up, I will make you pay," Cartman warned him in that faintly detached voice that would haunt many souls until the day their corpses were tossed into the ground. It spoke of horrors in the dark, of the blood splatters, and the laughter untold. It spoke of the waters of the night skies that lingered in the depths of ever threat made by the child with such sweet, honey eyes.

" It's not a set up," Kyle firmly lied without any qualms about doing so. No matter what the consequences for doing so might end up being, " Now, do you want a taste or not?"

" Yeah, I want a taste,"

" Then taste it,"

The order was unnecessary. Cartman gave one final nod as though that sealed the deal between the two. Then he turned his full attention to the rising tower of stacked, chocolate bliss. Kyle felt his heart slowing right down to a faint flutter that jolted as the Nazi raised up his finger. As he did before, he let it hover over that virgin buttercreme that glinted so passionately in the sunshine. Smiling this time, with perverse intent, he pressed his plump, greedy finger into that green swirl of heaven, and he dragged it from one side to the other. The streak left screamed out against the undisturbed slates around it. A blemish on perfection, the stolen creme was tasted for the very first time.

The gluttonous pleasure that washed over Cartman's fat face was unheard of. The love of taste that can be felt only by those who know the true meaning of the word _indulgence_. The shockingly profound obsession that breeds that almost lustful deviance poured over him. Kyle could see it in the way his eyes changed. The darkness was torn away and replaced by one of the most beautiful, pure expressions of happiness that the Jew had ever seen.

The faintest of smiles pooled over Kyle's mouth.

" How is it?" he could barely ask the question, his mouth was so dry. Yet, he choked it out in a tiny voice that seemed so much smaller spoken. He knew the answer long before his counterpart answered him in that dreamy, delirious voice that was so tangled and lost in the web of sin.

" It's delicious,"

" Okay," Kyle said, his voice quivering just barely. His hands fell away from the table, heavier than before. He slowly turned to face Cartman, who only faced the cake, " I can't miss the party. But chances are, no one will notice if you do,"

" Yeah, whatevah,"

Kyle nodded sharply at that abrupt dismissal. Swallowing and shaking, he stepped towards the back door. Outside, he could hear the shrill callings of summer time and the frantic hysteria of his tenth birthday party. Inside, however, he could see Cartman gazing up at the ten tier glory that he had tainted in such a small, but profound way. Carefully, Kyle placed his hand on the door knob and looked over his shoulder at the sinister, greedy, hungry smile crossing that lovely, fat face with such pretty, sugary eyes.

" Bye, Eric,"


	2. Freshman Finish

South Park High School looked like every other building in the small mountain town. Old, worn down, and neglected by a collection of people uninterested in it. As such, it was. None of the teenagers trudging up those broken cement steps could have cared less about the state of affairs concerning their personal prison. Feeling quite the same was the faculty that lingered in the doorways and halls, ushering the crowds through the icy chill of the air conditioned walkways. The heat that bathed the outside couldn't match the frosty bite of the inside, however. Thus, the throngs of adolescence made their ways into the white washed building and into the drafty halls. The building may have been left to rot, though not in so many words, but there was a considerable amount of life within.

The students bustled to and fro, book bags swinging on and off shoulders. Hips swayed, high heels clicked, and laughter chimed throughout. Music danced along the walls as chatter flooded in varying volumes. The conversations were drowned out by others, creating the usual blanket of white noise that consumed the wavelengths of high school hell. Into this environment, four renown troublemakers walked. They slipped up the cracked steps and into the out stretched hands of promise and they frowned at the invitation.

Still, Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh, and Eric Cartman entered the high school just after the first bell had sounded. They shared matching expressions wrought with boredom, annoyance, and frustration. However, that was all they shared. Five years of breaking and entering pre teen drama and teenage acceptance had shattered whatever they had once had in common. Into their own they had grown, although the look they shared drew them together as one over all. Nevertheless, the differences were striking, particularly on that day. For that day, none of them had bothered with the usual pretense of freshman year. The desire to be who they were had faded. Now, it was replaced by the older apathy of knowing who they were and not needing to show it. Somehow, that apathy showcased who they were better than anything of the previous months. It screamed loud and clear while they slowly inched towards the line of baby blue lockers that were their own.

Kyle had, at long last, grown to accept his unruly, red locks. His curls fell in waves down to his shoulders, frequently falling into his slender face. The appeal was feminine in a masculine manner, striking and lovely, somewhere in between worlds and lost there. Adding to that appeal was the heart stopping cast away look to his emerald eyes. He constantly appeared to be looking through the world about him. What he saw, of course, was unknown. The dark and harsh outline of inner rage to those shimmering eyes made sure of that. There was a depth to those orbs that screamed and shoved up walls and fought at the slightest movement. Yet, it were those two conflicting images, one of wisdom and one of savage anger, that created the persona that was the Jew.

He had replaced his orange jacket and green pants with a classic style that had touches of the punk and rocker fashions. Clashes of worlds that jerked and tugged him in various directions without end other than faint hints of shrieking rebellion. His jeans were light in color, but rough in style. There were tears at the knees and deep, forest green paint stains on the cuffs. They were his trash jeans; the ones he wore when he was rough housing at Stark's Pond and when he repainted his room without permission. Over them, he had thrown a black and blood red shirt with the Star of David etched into the fabric. The shirt was a semi tight fit, hugging the runner's body he had crafted from years of jogging in the afternoon to the music of Raging Pussies. His half way destroyed track shoes spoke loudly on that matter. Still, he had his faded book bag over one shoulder. It held his books, though none of them were school oriented.

However trashy Kyle looked, though, was nothing compared to Kenny. He had never been able to find a parka that fit as well as the iconic one of his childhood. Instead, he wore an unzipped hunter orange jacket with a nice hood on it. This jacket had graced his body for the past two years and showed the wear and tear of those days quite vividly. Underneath, he wore a belly shirt with the picture of a naked woman on it. His flat and skinny stomach showed every time he moved, sliding up and down. Whether it was really a belly shirt was unknown. As he was still wearing jeans from seventh grade, the shirt could have been the same. As such, though, his jeans hugged his slender frame tightly, especially at his slightly plump bottom. Years of being malnourished had not yet taken it's toll on his short frame. He remained healthy looking, even when he was underweight.

In fact, he still had a baby face. His tangled, messy blond hair fell in front of his barely fat cheeks and saucer wide eyes. The effect was stunning. He looked like an angel, with those shockingly sapphire orbs and plump face. Beyond the hair, however, there was a haunted look flickering in those pools of blue. Darkness pulled them into a frightening place; the only part that reflected the life that had left him so skinny. Nevertheless, he was beautiful. Feminine and fragile, even when his rough and tough clothes pushed and shoved him in a different direction.

While those two were torn to pieces, Stan looked pieced together. His jet black ebony hair had been left loose, but cropped short. In uncombed strokes, it hung into his deadpan aquamarine eyes of crystal cold. Those eyes resounded an unfathomable agitation at all before him, cutting into the world and cutting it to shreds in a vain attempt to discover interest. In that agony, he had created an unmistakable look of unadulterated unconcern. That look was reflected vividly in the downward turn of his lips and the tension in his slender, though wholly masculine, face that had failed to seem truly hardened.

Coupled to this look was the haphazardly matching outfit that was just as biting as those lifelessly livid orbs. His jeans were rich blue, but stained in black ink. The streaks smeared down to pool at the broken soles of tortured sneakers on their last breath. These were the protest jeans he had worn down to the docks during the last oil spill. These were the sneakers that had seen him through a year of hard running after animal abusers. Despite their noble appeal, his shirt was anything but. Instead, it was a ripped and worn tee expressing the platform of the Raging Pussies: No Sex No Deal. This tee hung on his athletic form, although it didn't diminish the strength of his toned body beneath. Over this faded grey thing, he had slung his blue bag which held a water bottle in place of books. Patches of various animal movements were stitched into the fabric torn apart by abuse.

Even as put together as he looked, he looked practically a mess when compared to Cartman. If only one of them had come through the nails and claws of middle school unaffected, it was him. His persona broadcasted that in booming tones without restraint. His clothes were a style all their own, with splashes of the classic, the punk, the rock, and the unusual, though they were, in nature, so simple. He wore jeans that were next to black that were loose until they reached his boots. These leather beauties were laced with bubblegum pink laces and were laced right over his designer, but broken in, jeans so they could be seen. There were scuffs of the fronts from a life of escaping police downtown, but polish on the sides from care. Equally as polished and bruised was the shirt worn over these boots and jeans. A bloodied red number, it was written on, in black letters, the repeating phrase WWBBD like sprayed on graffiti. The shirt was stretched over his wide and heavy belly that had grown expansive in it's girth over the proceeding years. Still, for all the weight, there was nothing to take away from the cascading charisma of such a person.

This was written even clearer in those deliciously sweet topaz eyes like drops of spilt honey. They sang with pleasurable confidence that danced in the cunning smile he wore. Adding to that charm were the sweeps of short, light tan hair that fell into those sweet eyes of harsh, broken innocence that had never been. His hair was a mess from the way he ran his fingers through it when laughing the cold, complacent laugh that just roared in the darker depths of those eyes. For, deeper still, there was a screaming inferno within those eyes that looked into souls and saw what shouldn't be seen. That cold and hot power lingered in that fox's smile and down into his full face and into every inch of that six foot tall, masculine form that had grown so heavy off of decadence.

As such, the four drifted aimlessly through the hallway. Other students dressed in much more casual clothing pushed and shoved their ways through the mill of people. None of those other students dared to approach the four of them. On the contrary, they did all that they could to avoid them. People eased against the lines of lockers and knocked into one another rather than disturb the stride of the four devastatingly irked looking boys. In this uninterrupted manner, they went through the school towards their lockers. They didn't bother with the hustle of those around them. They went at their own pace. Never mind the lingering threat of the bell sounding again.

" I don't even know why we gotta go today. It's the _last _day of school," Cartman sneered, rolling his eyes and looking away in the same motion. Kenny glared momentarily at nothing in particular while the other two cast fickle glances between them, " What's the point?"

" School says we gotta be here," Stan answered in a flat, monotone voice. The tone was so devoid of expression, in fact, his face didn't even mirror anything. It was as bored as before, as if this conversation ceased to exist.

" School fuckin' sucks," Kenny hissed with much more venom. His nose scrunched up slightly when he did.

" That's not the point,"

" Is there ever a point?" Kyle interjected mildly, adjusting the way the book bag rested on his shoulder. Stan shot him a muted version of a dark look. Beside him, however, Kenny snorted into his hand.

" Heeeelll no," the poor boy waved his hands to either side as he spat out his opinion on the matter. Stan groaned under his breath, squeezing his forefinger and thumb at the bridge of his nose. The other three turned their attention to him when he did, recognizing the sheer halting action for what it was. The activist furthered his point with a double handed stopping motion that was quickly followed by vocal explanation.

" Don't start, guys. I don't wanna hear it,"

" Well, soooorrrryy," Cartman retorted sarcastically, making a face to match. Kyle smacked him hastily in the arm without regard to the pressure nor the aim. Those honey eyes briefly moved in his direction.

" Shut up, fat ass,"

" What crawled up your butt today?" the Nazi demanded, wholeheartedly ignoring the Jew's comment and smack, " Ya sound like Kahl,"

" Fuck you!" Kyle snapped viciously, repeating his previous slap with considerable precision. The sound echoed a bit, but it was only something else Cartman ignored. Kenny, on the other hand, snickered into his hands. He was given a certain look from both of them, although it was obvious for different reasons. Stan didn't answer to the bait presented. He moved into a rant without noticing the shot directed at him nor the one at his best friend.

" I had to listen to my mom and dad have this _exact _same fight all last night," he moaned out in slow, long tones that accented nearly every word. The others wore their bewilderment proudly on their faces. It was Kyle, however, who openly addressed it.

" Your parents were fighting about you going to school? On the last day?" he paused for a second, leaving his questions hanging in the air. They grew heavier with every passing millisecond, as though their sheer confusion allowed them to. Then Kyle tilted his head to the side and pointed at Stan's face, " Why?"

" My dad said I didn't have to go. My mom did," Stan stated as a matter of fact. His voice and it's shared look said all there was to say on the topic. He offered no other explanation. Seeing how the others were well acquainted with Randy and Sharon Marsh, though, they didn't need any elaboration. They were quite versed in the rampant insanity, and the disagreements arising from said insanity, that plagued the Marsh family. Thus, they merely nodded.

" Your mom's stupid," Cartman said in an off collar sort of way, waving his hand in the general direction of the suddenly enraged and glaring activist.

" Don't call my mom stupid, Cartman!"

" Don't call her stupid, Cartman. Mrs. Marsh has always been really nice to us," Kyle added in that stern, affirmative voice he was capable of putting on when acting older than he was. The Nazi wasn't effected in the slightly by such a tone. He'd heard it too many times before to care.

" So?"

" So don't be an asshole,"

" What are ya, my mom?" Cartman's voice went quickly from unconcerned to irritated. The Jew's followed rapidly in suit as both their eyes narrowed at their chosen opposition. Like animals, they snarled at one another, drawing closer as though that would allow them a better angle to spew their rising anger.

" No, but someone has to tell you how to behave," the bite in Kyle's voice dipped down low to his soul. He could feel it bubbling beneath the surface. An ember ball of liquid fire, eager to explode and capable of erasing the better judgment preventing this verbal assault from changing into a roaring fist fight. The first trickle of hot flush oozed into his blood when Cartman flipped him the bird with that slow, honey evil smile of ready acceptance to the challenge presented in his fiery emerald eyes.

" Screw you, Jew,"

The invitation was so pretty, Kyle wished he could pluck it from the very air and save it for future reference. Those beautiful three words that just opened the door to that dripping ball of hatred so pure, it tasted like sugar. He ripped open that door and felt that spit fire hellion attitude jump into his bone and blood. Just as he was readying the attack, his hands clenching tightly, he was cut off. Stan created the same halting effect as before with similar motions. The stress in his voice paused the looming battle. It didn't, though, eliminate that raging pulse of fire in Kyle's blood.

" Jesus Christ, guys. Not this. Not now," Stan choked out through gritted teeth. He gave them exhausted looks from behind his hand, " It's too fucking early,"

" 'Not this'? Not what?" Cartman barked, the edge to his voice as definite as the tremble making its way down Kyle's tensed back. The Nazi and the Jew exchanged longing, desperate looks of outrage. The same look sized up their opponent. It was easily decided that the fight was one they _needed_. Their expressions told the other that, even if that message was missed by the glaring Stan and eye rolling Kenny.

" That thing. That whole 'bitch fest' fight thing you two do," Stan further explained, remaining as vague despite it. There was a growing distain for the conversation. It was becoming clear that he expected them to know what he was referring to and to stop it. Nevertheless, they were too distracted to catch on.

" What the hell are you talking about?" Kyle questioned, shooting a forlorn stare into those hauntingly hungry honey eyes. The Jew wet his lips as Kenny sighed and ran a hand through his tangled up hair. The motion knocked his hood down onto his shoulders quite effectively.

" You know that whole 'fuck you Jew', 'fuck you fat ass' thing that you do," the poor boy attempted to explain, smiling faintly as he did. Stan snapped his fingers and nodded energetically.

" Yeah. That,"

" I have no idea what you're talking about," Cartman told Stan and Kenny without any emotion to his voice whatsoever. He didn't even seem concerned that they were claiming he had a 'thing' with the Jew. Instead, there was a touch of fury to his usually blank, falsely sweet eyes. Perhaps, a touch mirroring the rage Kyle felt brewing deep within himself as this failure to release the immense fire directed at said Nazi.

Nevertheless, Kyle addressed the topic at hand with a select few words that he found faltered halfway through. He wasn't at all surprised by the turn of events. He was, after all, quite preoccupied. Mentally, to say the very least. Still, in that manner, he turned his harsh eyes to the looks of tired query on the activist and poor boy's faces.

" I do. It's not a thing. It. . ." his words tightened in his throat as he desperately searched for the right words to illustrate his point. Coming up empty handed in the white fog of lasting and pulsing fury, he spat out the only expression jumping to the forefront of his mind," It's an ongoing disagreement,"

" Disagreement my ass," Kenny mumbled under his breath as he flipped his hood back off his shoulders and over his flyaway blond hair.

" We're not disagreeing," Cartman cut in before Kyle could say a thing to the poor boy. Kyle thus turned his disapproving gaze onto his rival. That bubbling fire jumped into his throat, riling his blood in the anticipation of the struggle for control, the screaming match of opinion. He was not disappointed, " I'm right. You're wrong. Get over it, Kahl,"

The Jew grabbed the opportunity to argue faster than he had grabbed anything in his life. He jerked his whole body and his full attention to that joyfully jeering face and jabbed his finger up at it.

" Like hell you are! I'm right! You're _ignorant! _"

" I am NOT!"

" YES, you ARE!" Kyle shrieked, drawing closer to magnify the sound. Just the volume made the embers explode into a white haze just outside the line of his vision. Even more damning, he could see similar flames in those sweet honey eyes now narrowed in a glorious rage. He saw Cartman drawn closer to him; a moth to a flame, the both of them.

They couldn't help it, though. Screaming felt so good right then.

" Here we go again. . . " Kenny muttered, yet again under his breath. Beside them, Stan squeezed the bridge of his nose in a truly frustrated manner. It spoke to his feelings, although he still voiced it verbally with his favorite expletive.

" Goddammit,"

Regardless of Kenny and Stan's obvious upset at the turn of conversation, Kyle and Cartman did nothing to prevent the argument from escalating. If anything, their longing for that rush of ember induced hysteria encouraged it. Kyle knew that was how he felt concerning the situation. He tasted that burning sensation running along the back of his throat and he bit at the bait presented. Cartman did a wonderful job at presenting it just so. To the others, it was a tainted statement meant to prolong a fight. To Kyle, it was a carefully worded masterpiece. At any given time, it had no meaning. Said just right, however, it was a purely heinous remark meant to extend a request to finish a long overdue battle.

" You don't know what you're talking about, Jew,"

How fabulous the request was. Open ended, yet direct. A perfectly opportune request, truly it was. Being as courteous as ever, Kyle politely accepted without hesitation. In the manner required, of course.

" What the fuck do you mean; I don't know what I'm talking about?"

" I'm right. I'm _always _right," Cartman retorted venomously, casting the much shorter boy a demeaning smile. Kyle gritted his teeth in absolute agitation, before stepped even closer to that heavyset frame.

" You're never right," he jeered right back at him. Cartman was, as always unaffected by the claim. He scoffed and chuckled, infuriating that hot blooded red head all the more, " If you were always right you wouldn't have failed half your classes this semester,"

" If I'd failed half my classes, Kahl, I wouldn't have passed," the Nazi cattily replied in an offhanded manner. He seemed to be reeling in the tasty heat their arguments created with Kyle; as if he could taste what the Jew felt. A shiver slid down his spine at the very notion.

" You only passed because your mom's sleeping with the principal," Kyle's voice dropped in pitch as he smoothed his eyes away from those penetratingly toxic orbs. The roaring flames within licked across his cheeks while he eased his body away. Cartman bit his lower lip, watching, eyeing him, as though he wished to address the dramatic change in positioning. He didn't, for Kenny snickered and giggled into his fingers like a young school girl spying her crush.

" Heh. Yer mom's a dirty slut," he cooed, talking from behind his extended fingertips. Breaking into a fit of giggles matched with a wickedly frozen grin, Kenny covered his mouth to muffle the sound. The reaction gathered quite the strange look from the activist.

" My mom is _not _sleepin' with the principal," Cartman snapped at Kyle. He decidedly ignored Kenny's perverted and lustful attitude with a shrug of the shoulder, " She broke up with him,"

" And you still passed?" Stan exclaimed in honest and true shock. There was no play, no joke, no jest to that statement. In fact, he couldn't even hide the amazement as it leaked onto his normally blank face. Rather than grow angry at the shock, Cartman crossed his arms arrogantly over the large arch to his heavy belly. As such, he grinned at the fuming Jew grinding his teeth together.

" Told you I wasn't failin',"

" Oh, you were failing alright," was the barely audible answer Kyle shot at him. He felt his hands gripping in that mental fire wanting to strangle and choke the smug out of that fat face.

" You wish I was,"

" No, you were. It's just, none of the teachers want to deal with your shit, so they passed you anyways," he coldly commented without missing a beat. Cartman flipped him the bird complimented nicely by the face he made.

" Not true," he barked in that mildly amused tone he used when thoroughly enjoying a vividly cruel round with his favorite minority. Kyle returned the favor with his own finger gesture of mimicking mannerisms. The two grinned causally then, that heat trickling down to their toes in a lingering spell of intoxication.

For the moment, though, the words exchanged between them died away. Kyle swung his back pack off his shoulder as they approached the four lockers lined up one by one that were theirs. Unlike the other blue slates of metal, these four had smilie face stickers pressed into the corners. Each sticker was identical, in that they were yellow with sparkly trim, but different, in that they had symbols drawn on their wide foreheads. One had a swastika, another the Star of David, the third a four leaf clover, and the last a set of angel's wings.

At these lockers, the four stopped walking. Kyle turned the dial on the lock of his marked locker, looking square at the tiny numbers as they quickly spun by. Beside him, Cartman hovered, one hand on his equally marked locker. He leaned all his weight into that outstretched arm, successfully caging the Jew between his girth and where Stan was plugging in his own combination. On the locker with the angel wings, Kenny pushed his back into the cold metal. He folded his arms over his flat stomach and looked at Stan beside him. He flashed the activist a quick smile before the two lockers were carefully opened.

" Aren't you guys gonna at least empty your lockers?" Stan asked, moving his locker door so that he could still see Kenny's bubbly blue eyes and Cheshire cat smile. Cartman looked only briefly away from where Kyle was shifting through papers and notebooks.

" Why?" the Nazi implored, reaching around the Jew's head to attempt to shut the locker on him. Kyle snatched the bottom of the locker in a fast, and harsh, counterattack. The two swapped contemptuous stares before glancing over when the poor boy cut in.

" What the fuck for? They can do that, can't they?" Kenny questioned, shrugging and sliding down the locker he was leaning against a couple of inches. Kyle narrowed his eyes in blatant confusion.

" They who?" Kyle wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he asked the question anyways. It wasn't Kenny, however, who responded. It was Cartman and he did so in his usual wicked way. He even threw in a pretty eye roll for effect.

" They: the people who get _paid _to do it,"

" Who the hell gets paid to empty a locker?" the Jew demanded in open frustration. Cartman gave him a dirty look that was almost sympathetic in a mocking way. Of course, that only built up the hot sensation brewing within the pit of his stomach all over again.

" The fuckin' janitor maybe?" Kenny suggested in a rather annoyed voice. Stan and him shared an expression that was next to death, although it did leave them with smiles on their otherwise empty faces.

" Yea'. That wetback that mops the fuckin' halls,"

" Don't fucking call him a wetback," Kyle commanded, jerking his cold eyes in Cartman's direction. He was granted another eye roll and there it was. That explosion of white, hot fire within his mind. He felt the pressure, it was so strong. Gritting his teeth, he almost didn't hear what was said next.

" Why? It's what he is," Cartman actually shrugged one shoulder in an utterly casual manner when he said it. In all honesty, he was asking for it as much as he was inviting Kyle into the ring for round two. The look to those eyes spelled it out just enough for the Jew to bite back.

" You don't know that! He could be legal immigrant! How do you know he jumped the fence? This is Colorado! That's a long ways to walk!" he shrieked, balling his hands into fists so tight, his knuckles blanched down to the bone. His blood lit on fire and the release was perfectly expressed. He knew Cartman heard it, but, he couldn't see those mirroring fires yet. He just saw the ecstasy at having infuriated the Jew into another argument.

" Yeah, right, Kahl. Jus' look at him. He's a wetback," the Nazi motioned at nothing, keeping his voice even and empty. He was still baiting him. He was taking his time. He was waiting for the moment to lose his control and scream back. The wait nearly drove Kyle into a fit of hysterics.

" He's a janitor. He's wearing the janitor's uniform. What am I supposed to be looking at?" he practically screamed. Every word was punctured with that mild instability that was making him want to slam his locker shut. If only to make a point.

Cartman didn't seem to notice.

" You jus' don't see it 'cause you're a Jew," Cartman explained with that same airy voice as before. There wasn't a lick of frustration in his tone. Not a touch of mania driving him to gripping his hands to tight, he could feel the blood bubbling beneath. The taunt, however, was there. A threat disguised in a few, simple words. Seeing that, only from years of practice, made Kyle draw in a shaky breath that cut into the back of his throat. The air felt so cold compared to the fire within. Nevertheless, he shivered and shook and quenched the rage that was being so easily pulled out of him. Too easily for his taste, actually.

" Oh, bite me," Kyle scathingly whispered under his breath. Burning in an almost visible way, he returned to the items within his locker. Cartman smiled down at him as if he could see the flames in his emerald eyes and seeing them pleased him. Before he could continue drawing them to life, Stan injected with a haughty comment of his own.

" An' you only _see _it 'cause you're racist," the activist stated firmly, grabbing up all the paper and notebooks within his locker. Cartman's attention was directed at him merely to answer as calmly as he could.

" Your point?"

Stan stared at Cartman in what could have been shock. Not shock at the statement, of course, as he knew as well as any of them how the Nazi felt about minorities. No, but perhaps shock at his ability to be so nonchalant about it. Either way, he blinked and turned away. Instead, Stan tossed his schoolwork into the nearest trashcan. He didn't bother with looking at what he'd just thrown out. He just did it and washed his hands of the event. Besides him, on the other hand, Kyle carefully sorted through all the papers he had collected haphazardly during his brief, but satisfying, tiff with Cartman. Kenny leaned forward enough to see this process. In curiosity, he lowered his hood and addressed it by pointing.

" What the fuck are you doin', Kyle?"

" I'm sorting my paperwork. What does it look like?" the Jew sneered back without even looking up. He didn't mean to sound so harsh. He just couldn't help it. The fire for his fighting with a certain someone had yet to completely die away. Unfortunately, Kenny got the last of it with a dark glance.

" Well, I know that's what the fuck ya doin'. I meant, what the fuck for?" Kenny snapped right back with quite a similar tone. He even pushed himself off his locker to get a better look at the red head. The two exchanged a deliciously chilled look.

" What'd you mean 'what the fuck for'?" Kyle hissed, if only to be difficult. Kenny twitched from his head to his toes, his hands balling up like Kyle's had previously.

" I mean, what the _fuck for_?" he barked with noticeable agitation that was unquestionable. The accent he was usually gifted at hiding rose to the surface in a classically uncontrollable manner. He didn't even seem to care. Really, he seemed to be focused on Kyle's face, which, for all intents and purposes, usually meant that the poor boy was aiming a well thrust punch in the making.

" I think he means 'why are you sorting it' instead of just throwing it all out," Stan interjected in a diplomatic fashion. Kyle arched an eyebrow in his best friend's direction while Kenny waved his hands at the activist.

" Yeah, that's what the fuck I'm sayin'!" Kenny exclaimed, jabbing a finger at both of their faces. Kyle blinked a couple of times, easing away from the loud mouthed blond. Stan merely smiled softly down at Ken. He returned the smile with earnest while Cartman snickered under his breath.

" What are you, his translator?" the Nazi teased, tilting his head to the side. Kyle glanced at him before snickering all the same.

" Lord knows he needs one," the Jew joked, casting a faint smile up at Cartman. They leered at the suddenly pouting Kenny, who puckered his lips in a more than childish way. Casually, they chuckled, to which end he flipped them the bird.

" Fuck you, smartass. You gonna answer my question or not?"

" Well, I thought it was obvious," Kyle lightly said with a slight smirk. Kenny was quite obviously not amused, " But I'm sorting it to keep what I need,"

" Need for what?" the poor boy snarled right back at him, putting his hands on his hips in a jerky motion. Two emerald eyes looked him up and down, yet returned to the paperwork as if there was nothing to see.

" Need for next school year,"

" I don't get it," Kenny spat out to the side, twisting to look at Cartman for clarification. Stan seemed to want to say something, but he never got the chance. For, Cartman cut in. He didn't offer clarity for his friend, however. Instead, he made a point to accent nearly every syllable as though to amplify his disbelief.

" You keep that crap?"

" _Yes,_" Kyle practically growled it out. He was no fool. He heard all those little notes of jeering within that disbelief. He certainly wanted to let Cartman know he heard them. Either way, his tone was ignored. Blatantly, even.

" Why? They're jus' gonna give it to us again next year," Cartman shrugged, moving his hand from his locker. Rather, he leaned back against it, crossing his arms firmly over his rounded belly. Kyle caught a glimmer of fire deep within those sugary eyes and he had to physically fight the smile crawling over his heating flesh.

Such a simple turn of phrase. Such a simple way to ease into a fight.

Lucky for him, he knew just what to say.

" Yes, but this way I can study,"

" Over summer?" the other replied in a nearly toxic manner. Oh, it wasn't a poison Stan and Kenny could taste, what with their blank stares. It was, though, something that Kyle felt in a mild fury. He let the biting comment cut into his flesh as he gritted his teeth and glared through his bloody red curls at two gleaming orbs.

" _Yes._"

" Wow. You're an even bigger nerd than I thought, Kahl,"

" People fuckin' study over the _summer? _" Kenny cut in through the building tension. Kyle and Cartman both regarded him with unkind looks that caused Stan to frown with just the edges of his lips.

" Well I can understand why you're so surprised. You don't even study during the school year," Kyle hissed back, desperately trying to balance out an irregular tone. He longed to be screaming. He didn't dare raise his voice at that unstable, little hoodied creature, though. Kenny wouldn't take it in the same stride as Cartman. Experience had told him that vividly.

" Yeah, but over the summer? Ain't you got nothin' better to do?" the poor one shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he asked it.

" Of course not, Kinny. He's a stupid Jew," Cartman snapped with a voice so smug, Kyle actually felt hands on his shoulders, telling him so. Nevertheless, it was rightly so. Only a voice like that could redirect the conversation into another lovely argument. And so it did.

" What the hell does me being Jewish have to do with this?" Kyle barked bitterly. Beside him, Stan squeezed the bridge of his nose in the mute annoyance at having to listen to this sort of thing all over again. Kenny, on the other hand, giggled innocently.

" You being Jewish has to do with everything," Stan informed his best friend, despite the fact that he was not being listened to. Kyle didn't hear him over the crackling of flames slowly churning in his mind.

" Ain't that the truth," Kenny mumbled into his hands as he once again hiked his hood over his messy, tangled hair.

" Only Jews are stupid enough to _need _to study over the summer,"

Cartman couldn't have made his intentions any clearer if he had asked outright.

" Okay. You know what, Fat Ass. I have the highest grade in the entire school. How am _I _the stupid one?" the Jew shrieked, shaking as he shoved his paperwork back into the locker. He saw Stan's head drop as if the activist couldn't believe he had just said such a thing. He saw the warning before it was given, those light aquamarine eyes pleading with him.

" Don't do it, Kyle,"

Kyle did not heed said warning. He plunged head on into it.

" No, I wanna know! How the _hell _am I the stupid one?" he yelled up at the amused expression watching his every twitch and tremble; both actions he found himself incapable of preventing. Those eyes lit up when he shouted his question, of course. The bait was taken and Cartman smirked and sneered and jeered as he returned the strikingly wickedly worded response.

" You're a filthy Jew. You have to study all the time just to keep up," the Nazi cooed out in that disgustingly sweet tone he used when attempting to get his way. Or when patronizing his favorite sparing partner. In this case, he couldn't have chosen better. Kyle actually let out a strangled sound of frustration that burned up his throat. That burning ripped through his pulsing blood as his heart rate speed up to match the shivering of his hands gripped so tight.

" Goddammit," Stan barely got out his opinion before Kyle exploded in a fresh bout of irrationality.

" Okay! You know what!" he roared, throwing down his book bag. It clattered into the floor, making Kenny jump and Stan cover his face. Cartman simply swallowed in longing, " Just for that, I'm not gonna study for the rest of high school an' I bet I'll _still _graduate ahead of you!"

It felt so good to be yelling. Really, it did.

" Well, duh. I already blew freshman year," the way the Nazi said it made it a mock, a tease, a challenge. He unfolded his hands, removing his psychological shield. He was defenseless and he liked it. Kyle could see it.

" I thought you said you passed?" Stan jumped in, his head raising up.

The look he was shot by both the Jew and the Nazi was dark enough to made him blink in a mildly confused manner.

" A 2.0 is passin', dumbass," Cartman sneered, as Kenny laughed into his hands. The muffled sound was comforting, if only in the familiarity sense.

" Don't mean he's gonna stand a chance against Kyle," the poor boy teased, though he turned his sapphire eyes on Stan rather than on the boy he was addressing. Stan flashed teeth momentarily while Kyle snapped his fingers. He pushed his index digit into Cartman's plump arm.

" Okay. I'll do you one better. I'll be valedictorian,"

" Valedictorian in a town full of dumbass rednecks. Yeah. That's gonna look _great _on your Harvard application," the Nazi remarked without hesitation. Kyle ground his teeth together. He fought the urge to spit in that fat face.

" What the fuck's a valedictorian?" Kenny meekly asked, his smile disappearing. His nose scrunched up when he said it. Every inch of that rough, tough, and dirty face screwed up in bewilderment. Cartman choked on what must of been a laugh, for he motioned towards the short boy with a sickeningly cocky smile on those lips.

" Case in point,"

Kenny's mouth slowly opened in outrage. There was a second, a moment, where it looked like Kenny was about to lose his cool. Dark pools had overtaken the whole of his eyes, dragging them to a secondary level of hell's fire. In fact, the cautious way in which he narrowed said eyes and turned them into a dagger's stare made Kyle swallow in waiting. Stan, on the other hand, rested his fingertips on the edge of that ratty, beaten jacket. Moving slightly closer, he firmly pressed his palm into that shoulder with a sense of protection and calmness to the action.

" It means first in class," Stan explained without looking at Kenny. Instead, he shot a dark glare at Cartman. Cartman, however, didn't seem to mind.

" First in class fer what?"

Stan sighed at the sound of Kenny's next question. He appeared as though ready to pet him on the head and tell him it would be okay while Cartman snickered without restraint. Kyle smacked him in the arm to silence the chuckles.

" It means he'll have the top GPA,"

" GPA?"

" It means he's the smartest kid in our graduating class," Stan finally just said, although he did so without any form of agitation or frustration. Kyle would have snapped it, Cartman would have sneered it, but never Stan. He almost gave the blond a forgiving smile for daring to be so shamelessly adorable as to ask such obvious questions as those. As he was gearing up to, however, the Nazi ruined the moment as he usually did.

" Now say it _real _slow an' he might get it,"

" Are you serious, Kenny?" Kyle interrupted before either Cartman could laugh or Stan could glare. Kenny moved slightly to face the Jew, " You have no idea what GPA means?"

" Does it fuckin' look like I know what the fuck it means?" the poor one demanded, thrusting his fingers back at himself in an offhanded gesture. Kyle noted the upstart attitude to that statement and was opening his mouth to hiss back when Stan squeezed the bridge of his nose.

" Grade point average. It means grade point average," he weakly expressed, peering down at Kenny apologetically. Whether he was apologizing for the other two or for Kenny's confusion, though, was unknown. His apology didn't mean anything to any of the three.

" What the _fuck _is grade point average?"

Stan, Kyle, and Cartman all joined in with the momentary stare of complete and utter disbelief. Some shock and awe was thrown into the mix, but, mostly, it was just disbelief. Disbelief that Kenny could have made it through all of middle school and freshman year without knowing this. Disbelief that Kenny would actually be asking a group of his peers to explain it after so many years. Disbelief that Kenny McCormick could possibly sound so cute when unavoidably helpless in said situation. Yet, it was unmistakable. He did, all of them, and he did so with a small foot stomp of annoyance and a hearty glare of fresh, crushed ice stares. Slowly, Kyle blinked and glanced from side to side.

" I don't know if this is because you're blond or just. . . .stupid," the Jew muttered, tilting his head briefly to the side as if changing his perspective would make believing it easier. His statement was met with a fury of bared teeth, snarling, and a loud, overwhelming declaration in his general direction.

" Who the fuck are you callin' stupid?"

" A blond and a stupid person are the same thing, Kahl. Duh," Cartman retorted calmly. He acted as though Kenny was not metaphorically foaming at the mouth in pitch black rage the likes of which was the mental equivalent of poison. Hearing that voice in his ear, Kyle removed his gaze from the poor boy. Rather, he looked up and over his head and jabbed his finger up to those honey eyes.

" You're stupid and you're not blond,"

" Fine. I'll rephrase," he answered with a shrug of the shoulders, " All blonds are stupid people. Not all stupid people are blond,"

" Did you just admit to bein' stupid?" Stan questioned dangerously. Cartman ignored him quite passionately, while Kyle addressed him directly. He felt the fire within, uncurling at the hint of a mocking tone, and desired to bring that spark to a grand inferno. Thus, he proceeded as he had before. Daintily with a well placed turn of phrase. A bait, as it were.

" Of course he did. He's _stupid._"

Cartman's eyes darkened considerably at the present wrapped up in a neat, tidy bow. He didn't need to read the open it to know what it was. Instead of discarding it as he had Stan's, he took it and he shoved back. Kyle had pushed first this time. He had held out his hand for the perpetual tango and it was accepted with a sugary kiss to the knuckles and that classic grin.

" 'EY! Jus' 'cause I ain't smart the way you are doesn't mean nothin', you goddamn Jew!"

" It means you're stupid! That's what it means!" Kyle bit back as hard as he could, refusing to lose the momentum of the fire within the words thrown at him. Cartman's face finally started to showcase the anticipation that had been stirring and shaking the Jew's mind to pieces. He saw the way he licked his lips. That fat Nazi was as hungry for this brawl as he was. He felt his blood setting ablaze as those eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth and they took in their breath to scream and Eric was so hungry and they were ready to go, go, start, please, Lord in Heaven, he was ready, and they were on fire.

" WOULD SOMEONE FUCKIN' TELL ME WHAT THE MOTHAFUCKIN' GODDAMN HELL GRADE POINT AVERAGE IS?"

Kenny smashed the side of his fist into his locker with enough force to slightly dent the blue metal. The sapphire of his broken, harsh eyes of ice was as bloodied as red split from the knife in a fresh murder. Death was written in them for any soul that entertained the idea of overlooking his roared request. The look on that lovely face was wrought with a command that was something entirely different. Instead of a request, it was an order and one not to be ignored. The white of his teeth, the slant of his eyes, the off kilter stance of his body, the blanche of his knuckles all painted the picture clearly. Kenny, dear sweet child that he was, had had enough.

" It's that 2.0 thing on your report card," the activist said without needing to be told twice. His voice was not rushed, nor concerned, with the low sound of desperate struggle for control coming from the on-the-edge McCormick, " It determines how well you're doin' in the class. It's based on the grades you make during the year,"

" Yea' an' 2.0 is pushin' it for Kinny," Cartman joked, pointing at the calming expression overtaking the previous explosion of white, hot wrath. There was no mention of fury in the Nazi's voice, though. He was back to being as balanced as could be.

" Hey! I have a fuckin' 2.0.,"

" Yeah. You graduated, didn't you?" Stan didn't need to ask it, but it was phrased as a question anyways. Kenny gave him a quizzical look devoid of any emotion outside of misunderstanding. As suddenly as it had come, his temper was gone again.

" The fuck does that gotta do wit it?"

" You need a 2.0 to move up a grade,"

" Why?"

" Because that's average. You have to be average to move up," Kyle interrupted, motioning his fingers in an upward movement. Stan nodded in agreement while Kenny scrunched up his nose. The expression he wore clearly said that he had a few more questions, probably on the policies concerning this average thing, but he didn't get a chance to ask.

Immediately thereafter, the first bell rang. Around the four, the crowds of people blanketing them with continuous noise began to shuffle off towards swinging and shutting doors all along the halls. After this bell, there were only a few minutes to scurry into classrooms before the tardy sharks swam into the walkways to search for victims to drag to the tardy tank. This so called tank, which, in actuality, was a small room off the counselor's office, handed out the dreaded tardy slip. By itself, the pink thing was worthless. A student could gather as many as four of them before they became a serious threat. Beyond the limit, however, they became a worthy opponent for an enjoyable afternoon. Detentions, suspensions, and more followed a long track record with the index card sized pink things. As it was the last day of school, most of the students in South Park High had acquired a decent amount of tardy slips. Not wishing to ruin the beginning of their summer, then, they bustled quickly through the locker lined halls.

Despite having more slips than any of the other students combined, the four known troublemakers did not partake in said school activity. Stan just glanced down the hall as he pushed his locker shut. Beside him, Kyle took his deemed worthless papers and chucked them into the trash. The rest, he went to put into his bag. A look from Cartman, though, reminded him of his previous declaration of giving up studying. Kyle thus smiled smugly and dumped the rest of the stack in with the first half. He then pulled his bag over his shoulder and slammed his locker closed.

With that, the group slowly eased away from their sticker claimed lockers. They vaguely headed in the direction of their first period class of freshman year; biology. Not one of them seemed pleased with the decision, but they went anyways. The rate of walking, however, made the process slow. Kyle examined the ceiling, Kenny yawned into his fist, Stan sighed dramatically, and Cartman rolled his eyes with remarkable precision. Idly, the Nazi smacked Kenny in the shoulder and they communicated visually. Whining, Kenny handed over a candy bar from his jacket's pocket. Cartman tore open the wrapper and took a bite while offhandedly gesturing towards the classroom they were headed.

" Why are we goin' to class?"

" Because we have to," Stan answered in an unconcerned voice that mimicked his eyes in every way. Kenny pouted as Kyle wholeheartedly disengaged himself from the conversation. Rather, he jabbed his finger at the candy his heavy set friend was eating.

" Are you serious? It's seven in the morning and you're eating candy?" he didn't even know what emotion could be assigned to his voice. Within, the fiery embers were gone. They were extinguished by a sensation much hotter, much darker, much deeper inside his soul. Flames, embers, blazes, didn't seem adequate to explain the boiling white heat licking through his skull and into his spinal cord. The rippling tingling that progressed in all his nerves, though, was much like a splash of water to the face: shocking and burning.

" It's breakfast,"

" It's not fucking breakfast! It's fucking candy!" Kyle countered, digging his fingers into the strap of his bag to keep from lashing out. There was a tremble inching down his body, shaking him in a livid way. Beside him, though, Stan and Kenny distanced themselves from the argument by drifting a few centimeters to the left. They drew closer together, however, until their shoulders were touching.

" I'm not cutting class on the last day of school," the activist stated, as if searching for a topic to start a conversation on. Kenny turned his eyes to the ground while his lips smoothed into a soft, sly smile halfway hidden behind bright, hunter orange.

" Why? We always fuckin' cut class," Kenny glanced towards Stan. Stan returned the stare with a momentary glance of his own. Whereas Kenny's was directed towards Stan's legs, though, Stan's was at Kenny's face.

" It's the _last _day of school,"

" Yea' an' I wouldn't even be here if my parents hadn't been havin' sex this mornin'," the poor one responded with the lightest touch of agitation. The emotional touch made Stan's blank face harden even when the expression worn there never changed.

" Who cares if it's candy? It's breakfast," Cartman hissed down at the Jew who was giving with the wildly controlled look of heated fury. Kyle shook his head and his hands simultaneously in frantic waves.

" No, it's not. It's candy," he firmly assured the Nazi. Twisting to him, he made obvious motions to the large curve of Cartman's stomach, " And _trust me, _you don't need anymore,"

The hot water tidal wave white washed Kyle's mind as his voice dipped lower, and lower still. Quivering fear quenched his heart as it sped up, exhilarated to the point of self destruction. The breath that cut in, cut through, all the way through, his throat. A guillotine that struck every tenth of a second in rapid succession. Such was the manner he stood, his eyes widening in what could be labeled primal arousal. The fight, the bait, tasted like sugar. Down it went, toxic and true; an elixir to the aches of waiting all morning for the taste. Not enough, no, but enough for sedation of a building array of black, cold cat calls dancing through his otherwise moral senses.

Unfortunately, it was a sedation that was denied.

" Bite me, Jew," Cartman plainly said without the hint of pleasurable rage. There was no baiting, no mocking, no teasing. Merely three words, then the cold shoulder as he turned his attention away from the shell shocked Jew. Speechless, Kyle could only stare in growing black outrage.

" I doubt that's the only thing you've had for breakfast," Stan responded, moving a step closer into Kenny. The blond giggled ferociously into his sleeve covered palm whilst bobbing to the pressure of his shoulder against the activists.

" Nah. His mom made fuckin' pancakes. I know. I was there," Kenny replied, smiling widely in remembrance. Cartman frowned and gave the poor boy a nasty look reflective of many more he had given him beforehand.

" Yea', ya fuckin' mooch,"

" Hey! My parents were havin' fuckin' sex on the goddamn mothafuckin' couch," Kenny protested, loudly and wildly. He body moved towards the much bigger boy. Thus, his chest pushed into Stan's shoulder. The activist didn't appear put off in the slightest. In fact, he briefly smiled with the corners of his mouth. Ignoring the invasion of personal space, Kenny thrust a finger in the other's direction, " That's not moochin'. That's desperation,"

" Call it whatevah you want, Kinny. I call it moochin'," Cartman made a face as he told him so. Before he went to take another bite of his candy, however, Kyle's mind went cold, black waters and infuriated white fire.

" Give. Me. That,"

Whether or not the action was to appease the black or white, he didn't know. Everything went a stunning shade of grey as he snatched the candy bar out of that plump hand. He threw it violently into the nearest trash can. So hard, in fact, the echo of the clatter ran down the hall ahead of them. Yet, it was a motion that Kyle had no recollection of immediately thereafter. All he felt was blind satisfaction that dropped from his spinning head to his curling toes within seconds.

" 'EY! That was mine!" the sound of Cartman's shout pushed it's way down Kyle's back. The fingers were not kind as they shoved and broke down the shivering cold. Fire pushed back in a steadily growing inferno of internal screaming.

" Look, Fat boy! You don't need anymore candy!"

" You ain't my motha! You ain't my doctor! Back the fuck off, you goddamn stupid Jew!"

" Jesus Christ, not again. . . ." Stan mumbled, moving into the blond staring at the furious tension building in the space between the shaking Jew and fuming Nazi. They went uncounted for as the space drew next to nothing and the fury exploded after countless attempts to destroy, control, and contain it.

Kyle was the one who stepped over the line first.

" I don't need to be your mother! I don't need to be your doctor!" he stopped walked abruptly, bringing the entire group to a perilous standstill. Without concern for pressure, he pushed a finger deep into Cartman's heavy belly. When he spoke next, the demonic tone that rolled off his tongue matched the wholly hellish glint to his wide, emerald eyes, " I say it's not healthy and I don't need any of them to tell me it's not healthy! You don't need to be eating any more goddamn candy! You're fat enough as it is!"

" Fuck you, Kahl!" Cartman screamed down at him. The look to those honey orbs was murderous intention overshadowed by a blood lust the likes of which was unheard of, " It's my body! I'll do what I want! You don't have any say in what I eat or when I fuckin' eat it! So jus' shut the fuck up!"

" Well, _somebody _needs to tell you it's not healthy!"

" Do I _look _like I fuckin' care if it's healthy?

" No, you look like you jus' care how it tastes, fat boy!" Kyle snapped back, his body swaying slightly in the overwhelming darkness reaching up from the depths of his mind. He was giving in. He could feel it. Too bad it felt so good.

" Mind your own business, Jew! I don't need you tellin' me anything about what I eat!" Cartman's voice was raising as his hands clenched into fists. The pull to his eyes deepened, darkening them ever so slightly. There was a monstrous desire to hit him within Kyle. Strike first, test the waters that were making his head swim. From the look in those eyes, however, he was the one who was going to be struck down.

Somehow, the thought only excited Kyle.

" Kyle. . ." the lightness to Stan's unaffected voice shot through the waters like a jolt of electricity. That alone wasn't enough to make Kyle surrender this argument. When Stan rested a hand on his shoulder, then, he was shocked. He was slowly edged away from Cartman. The seriousness of what was being said, of the implications, fell over him as his closest friend steered him from the edge of destruction.

" Fine! You know what, _fine! _Keep eating the goddamn candy, Cartman! _See _what happens!" Kyle screeched out as he was gingerly eased from the line of fire. Stan squeezed his shoulder tighter, turning him away from the only person capable of bringing that level of fury out of him.

" Bite me, Kahl. Jus' fuckin' bite me,"

" Kenny. Make him stop," Stan demanded, looking sideways at the idle bystander of the blond. Kenny snapped to attention and jerked his head towards the blindly enraged Nazi.

" Eric," Kenny hissed in a tone that was quite different from his usual one. Two eyes of honey moved to his frozen expression hidden within the lines of an angelic face, " Knock it off,"

" Screw you, Kinny," Cartman muttered. Regardless, he did conceded as well, casting one final, heartfelt glare at the Jew. Kyle returned the gesture passionately before Stan moved him away and down the hall.

Hesitantly, the four began to make their way through the empty halls. Though none of them were sure when it had, they were sure the last bell had rung. The walkways were devoid of life outside of them, after all. Still, they drifted through the winding maze of teenage prison. No doors opened with irate teachers looking to send them to the principal's for screaming and disturbing the peace. No tardy sharks drew near to slap them with a summer tainting pink slip. No one came and no one went aside from them. This silent diversion from the minutes of morning beforehand eased the lingering tension away until it had whittled into nothingness. The memory faded as Stan sighed heavily and, at long last, released his stronghold on Kyle's shoulder.

" Why don't we. . . you know. . . go to Garrison's?" Stan suggested without any heart to it. All around, strange and bewildered looks were given in exchange.

" Garrison's? Isn't he our last class?" Kenny asked, folding his hands behind his head. The hood on his bangs was pulled down a bit, revealing more of his striking hair and bewitching eyes.

" Yeah," Stan nodded as he said it, " But it's the only alternative to skipping,"

" I'd rather jus' skip," Cartman informed him, running a hand through his already messy hair. Kyle bobbed his head up and down, pushing his curls momentarily out of his face. The moment he removed his hand, though, they cascaded back down into it.

" Me too," the Jew agreed, tilting his head a fraction of an inch. When he did, Cartman reached over and teasingly tugged on a curl. His hand was smacked back and the rivals shared a blank look of cold indifference that ended when Stan sighed yet again.

" Oh, come on. We'll be able to just hang out and not get in trouble for it,"

" Yeah, but it's _Garrison,_" Kyle reminded him as he shifted the weight of his book bag on his shoulder. Stan's return look was much harder around the edge than previously.

" Kyle, I'm not skipping and we're already late," the activist's voice rarely ever held anything other than agitation or flat affect. In those words, however, there was a command that need not be expressed verbally.

" So don't skip. I don't care. Me an' Kinny will go back to my place without you two," Cartman said, thumbing towards the way they had come. Kenny grinned at the inclusion, despite having nothing to say on the matter. Nevertheless, Stan remained poised on his red headed friend.

" Kyle," his voice held the command of before. His eyes, on the other, pleaded a different story. They never quite reached the pleading measures of anyone else, of course. His face was far too empty for such desperate expressions. However, the full message was read by those searching green orbs. Letting out a sigh of overt defeat, Kyle motioned to the other two.

" Alright, you guys. Let's just go to Garrison's," he asserted, nodding towards Stan. Cartman and Kenny both wore instant looks of distaste, " I brought a deck of cards anyways,"

" _Fine,_" the Nazi sighed in a truly disinterested way. His eyes rolled in that perfect manner he had learned over a decade ago. A flicker of a smile moved over the Jew's lips at it's appearance, however secondary it was.

" Ugh. Alright," Kenny groaned out, screwing up his face as if he could physically taste how terribly he felt about the idea.

" Thanks, Kyle," Stan said with a smile as the group turned to head the other way down the hall towards Garrison's classroom. Kyle nodded briefly, absentmindedly yawning into his fingertips.

" I still can't believe we got him for English," the Jew muttered, rubbing one of his eyes tiredly. Cartman glanced him up and down while Stan made a face like he had bitten something sour. Kenny sauntered up next to him as he did and idly hovered less then an inch from his shoulder. Every few steps, the activist and the blond bumped arms.

" Yeah, well, this is the last day we have to deal with him," Stan stated as his eyes flickered over the portion of his arm that frequently made contact with the pleasantly smiling Kenny. On his part, Kenny watched his shoes.

" If you say so," Cartman interjected with a cast away gaze at the ceiling.

" Well, it's not like he can teach us next year. He only teaches _freshman _English," Kyle retorted sarcastically, looking over as Kenny brushed his hand with Stan's. Almost without noticing, Stan intertwined his fingers with the dirty ones of the other boy. They held hands as if they didn't know they were. Neither one looked down or up to express recognition.

" That's not what my mom said," the Nazi told him as he too directed his eyes towards the handhold of the other two. He shared a look with Kyle, but what was said between their eyes went unsaid.

" What the hell do you mean 'your _mom _said'?" Kyle snapped, focusing all his attention on the discussion at hand. A few feet away, though, there was a snickering giggle as Kenny's face broke into a wild smile.

" Heh. Yer mom is _such _a dirty slut,"

" Shut up, Kinny," Cartman barked with a glare to match. Kenny ignored him with a school girl laugh that made his grip on Stan's hand tighten. Rolling his eyes again, the Nazi returned to looking down at the Jew who was still looking up at him, " I mean, my mom heard that he's gonna start teachin' all English's or somethin',"

" Are you fuckin' kidding?" Kyle exclaimed, his voice raising with a touch of fire running over the words. Stan gaped at Cartman in empty anger; mostly directly at their luck than what was being said. He fully expressed his feelings on the matter in his usual state of affairs.

" Goddammit,"

" Titties," came Kenny's hysterical voice from behind his hand. He grinned and chuckled and looked vaguely at them. Stan cast him a questioning stare while Kyle arched an eyebrow. Cartman, though, just sighed a mildly frustrated sigh.

" What?" Stan asked as if to clarify what was being said. Kenny snorted into his palm before flashing that infamously perverted expression that had won him many a slap over the years.

" Titties,"

" What _about _them?" the activist restated without the tiniest hint of frustration. Kenny merely snickered under his breath once more.

" Titties,"

" Where?" Kyle asked, twisting around in an attempt to locate the female his friend might have been talking about. As they had been for several minutes, they were utterly and completely alone. Cartman didn't bother with looking, however. He just glared down at the furiously giggling school girl that was Kenny.

" Shut up, Kinny,"

" Yer mom has titties," the pervert broke down into shrill, puncturing giggles as he said it. In an attempt to muffle them, Kenny released his hold on Stan's hand to cover his mouth with both sets of fingers. The sound was remarkably loud either way.

" I _said _shut up, Kinny," Cartman warned with an obvious note of threat in his voice. Kyle covered his face in what could be called embarrassment. Stan, on the other hand, just blinked and looked down at his hand.

" Oh,"

" Jesus Christ, Kenny. Get your mind outta the gutter," Kyle mumbled into his palms as he closed his eyes. Regardless of said statement, he did smile and shake his head in amused disbelief. The chuckles faded away as the blond lowered his hands.

" What the hell fer?" he implored innocently. As innocently as someone with the vocabulary as Kenny McCormick could, anyways. Before Kyle could respond in nay fashion, Cartman stepped in.

" Shut up," he ordered with a fierce attitude as he pulled back his hand. Without any other warning, he smacked Kenny in the back of the head. The poor boy immediately whimpered and fussed, throwing his hands up and rubbing the back of his head dramatically and wildly. He pouted and whined and caused quite the commotion without saying a word. The smallest of smiles crossed Cartman's face as he watched his foul mouthed friend react so impassionedly. Stan, on the other hand, placed a hand on Kenny's arm with a protective nature that was impossible to overlook.

Arching an eyebrow, Cartman reached over and snatched up the sleeve of Kenny's orange jacket. He gave it a nice tug and pulled the fussing boy over to him. He wrapped an arm about the shorter boy's shoulders and held him against the ample bulge to his belly. The fussing stopped as quickly as it had started. Rather, Kenny grinned warmly while falling into the embrace. Cartman pushed the hood out of the way and pressed his full cheek into the tangled hair.

" Mah Kinny," Cartman cooed out affectionately. He smoothed his fingers through the blond locks in an almost possessive manner. When he squeezed the slender ruffian into the weight gathered at his middle, it became abundantly clear that the actions were highly possessive.

" Heh," Kenny uttered as he buried his face into his friend's shirt. He beamed and he grinned and he didn't seem to mind whatsoever the claim presented. If anything, he was happier for it.

" What?" Stan asked in a thoroughly not amused tone of voice. The smile on the Nazi's face grew that much wider.

" Mah Kinny," he repeated, although he didn't elaborate in the slightest. Kenny offered no more clarification as he got nice and cozy in the arms of his closest companion.

Eyeing the display of closeness, Kyle frowned deeply as he stepped away from the two. Instead, he eased up to where Stan was staring intently at the hugging duo. The Jew didn't ask permission nor gauge any physical clues of the sort. He merely slipped his hand into Stan's and wrapped both his arms about the activist's one. Once interlocked, he nuzzled his cheek against Stan's shoulder.

" I'm hungry. I didn't have breakfast this morning," Kyle mumbled to his best friend. Stan looked at him with the same deadpan look he usually wore. He tilted his head to the side, though, to rest on the red head's luscious curls. Beside them, Kenny scrunched up his nose and Cartman rolled his eyes with some noticeable frustration behind the action.

" I'd offer ya some of my candy bar, but _some stupid Jew _threw it out," the Nazi sneered at the Jew without any sort of false kindness. The raw sarcasm was biting at it's best and scathing at it's worse. Either way, it got the desired glare out of those striking emerald eyes.

" Fuck you, fat ass," he hissed back, pushing his cheek deeper into the activist's shoulder. The fire within flickered a bit, as if stretching its legs to feel around for the argument. This one didn't feel like a true battle. Merely an exchange of words between good friends, " It was for your own good. When you have a heart attack, you'll know that,"

To accent his point, Kyle gestured towards Cartman's wide middle. His baited attempt to evaluating the tensions proved his assumption right. The Nazi allowed him the pleasure of a lovely smile, but declined the offer to dance one more round with him. Instead, he rocked Kenny back and forth as the poor boy snickered.

" If he ain't had a fuckin' heart attack by now, he ain't gonna," Kenny assured Kyle with that Cheshire smile, while he smacked his heavy friend in that large belly of his with the back of his hand. Stan nodded in idle agreement, drawing up close to where Kenny was held firmly in Cartman's grip. He attempted to free the pervert, but Cartman held on for dear life. Kenny just broke down in laughter.

Kyle, however, frowned as he turned his eyes away from where his empty arms were left as Stan slipped out of his grip. He looked down at the Nazi's waistline and he bit his lower lip. Those dark waters swam up in a rush so powerfully cold, he nearly drowned outright. Swallowing to prevent it, he twisted away. Facing the door of their destination, he fought back the icy sensation lingering in the back of his mind and the base of his throat. Instead, he reached out and turned the knob to what promised to be an entertaining couple of hours.


	3. Freshman Finish Act II

The realm of Garrison's classroom was surprisingly different than anywhere else in the whole of South Park High. While the rest was white washed walls, white boards, in a white out of blasé nonparticulars, Garrison's was fantastically opposed. The juxtaposition was striking, especially when entering from the hall after a lengthy stay within the confines of said stale environment. The desk set up in the front was made of dark wood and covered in a mess of papers; none geared towards the education of minors. The walls were coated in posters detailing school events from five years ago. Over some of them were reports written to an excellent caliber, although their haphazard arrangement made it strikingly obvious that the teacher had not put them up. The back wall was a black out of book shelves stuffed full of reading material that included a couple covers banned from all public schools. To the sides, there were smaller shelving units covered in textbooks and a littering array of discarded drink cups, water bottles, and trash. The lighting had a dim appeal, as if drawing the students in with a casual vibe. Perhaps adding to such an appeal, but perhaps subtracting, was the old fashioned green chalkboard up against the wall behind the teacher's desk. The board had the falling and rising tempo of streaks cutting across it. The words written were smudged, however, and the message lost to the hands of time.

The desks of this room were set up in semi neat rows, seven to the side and each four back. These were the standard issue, but there was nothing standard about them. Within rules concerning their care in place, the classes that shuffled through had lay claim to them. Some were almost wholly colored out in black marker. Others were carved up in the hearted initials of couples, since and now. Others still had stickers or bumper stickers plastered over them. One even had a noticeable burn mark pressed into the wooden top in the form of angel wings.

Over to these desks, the four drifted. The room was full of students forced into coming on that day, much like them. These students were other freshmen, but not of their close knit friends. Most hailed from other streets in South Park. People who hadn't been in their class throughout school. Thus, they were ignored as the four tossed down book bags and grabbed up the four desks that had been theirs since day one, sixth period, one hundred and seventy nine days ago. As it was, those four desks were the only ones without an outsider sitting in them. They were, after all, marked as belonging to them. One had a gold marker Star of David, another the burned in angel wings, the third a fully colored four leaf clover, and the last a blood red swastika.

These desks were turned so that they formed a 'circle'. Stan and Cartman pushed the tops of theirs together while Kyle and Kenny shoved the tops of theirs up to the sides. Thus, they sat in a clockwise fashion starting with Cartman, going to Kyle, to Stan, and ending with Kenny. As such, Kyle started to unzip his bag and fish through the novels inside to locate the deck of cards. Around them, students were staring in wide eyed horror mixed with shock. They looked quite stunned, even to the point of awe. Seeing how none of these people had ever shared a classroom with the four, though, that was to be expected.

The four were, after all, infamous.

Infamous not for being themselves, despite the fact that as individuals they had gathered a substantial amount of infamy. Rather, infamous as a whole. 'The freaky four' was the title commonly attributed to them in the sliding whispers of hallway and bathroom gossip. 'The freaky four' who had set the middle school gym ablaze on a five dollar dare that said they so wouldn't. 'The freaky four' who had gotten up on stage at the eighth grade talent show and performed an encore gathering rendition of Raging Pussies' leading single 'Eiffel Tower'; Cartman and Kenny as the leads, of course. 'The freaky four' who had slammed a baseball bat through a store window when the manager refused to open up to sell them white cherry slushies as four in the morning on a Sunday when they were supposed to be in bed, and, yeah, did you hear, they robbed the place blind and bolted before the cops could show up, you sure, yeah, heard it just the other day from a friend of a friend. 'The freaky four' who had taken Mickey Frank by the ankles and dragged him behind the community center and beaten him to a bloody pulp for staring too long and too hard at them for whatever reason they had cooked up. 'The freaky four' who disappeared every now and then and were found three days later walking up the dirt road from Stark's Pond in a blank stare and said 'fuck you' when you asked what they were doing. 'The freaky four' who shared a glance and got real quiet whenever they were asked how the family was.

'The freaky four' that knew everything about everyone but no one knew nothing about them. Those 'freaky four'.

The stares continued long after Kyle had located the deck of cards. As he began shuffling them, there was a rustling of papers from the front of the classroom. Whereas the whole of the outsiders grew still, the four merely looked around for drinks to nick or adjust their seats accordingly. Then, over their heads came a loud, nearly Southern voice. It addressed them from the wooden desk centered at the front of the room, yet was loud enough to bear the illusion of being directly above and behind them.

" Jus' what the fuck do you four retards think you're doin' in my classroom?" Garrison barked from the desk. The other students exchanged a flurry of looks as they all physically removed themselves from the argument; leaning away or inching their desks to the side.

" Playing cards," Kyle calmly and evenly said without a touch of emotion to his voice. Cartman didn't even look up from where he was idly staring. He continued to watch the Jew shuffle the cards expertly. Kenny tugged on his hood and flashed their glaring teacher a sly smile out of the corner of his jacket. Stan, of course, remained as dead faced as he ever was.

" Don't you fuckards have somewhere else to be?" Garrison hissed, tilting down wire rim glasses. Kyle's deep, emerald eyes slipped on over to look at the glare being cast. There was a moment when he appeared to be contemplating an answer befitting a teacher with as such 'prestige' as this one. Rather, he cast a smile about as sharp as a razor and as kind as one.

" No," he replied in the same tone as before. Beside him, Cartman smiled warmly as he glanced over at the perilously empty sapphire eyes of the poor boy. Kenny blinked, smiling a smile that never reached those orbs. They shared a look that went unnoticed as Stan suddenly blinked and came to life.

" Can we stay if we're quiet?" the activist asked, his body turning around to face Garrison. The suggestion seemed to hover in the air as two grey eyes narrowed in a distrusting sort of way. Then a magazine was shook open and Garrison turned a page.

" If you retards can keep yer mouths shut, you can. But, I'm warning you," their teacher threatened, wagging a finger in their general direction, " I ain't puttin' up with this shit today. I ain't gonna hesitate to toss you freaks out,"

" Got it," Stan muttered, turning back to face the rest of the four. Kyle shuffled the deck one last time. Then, he started to deal the cards with a simple flick of his wrist. He didn't need to count out loud, nor double check the cards. Within seconds, he had dealt out five cards to each of them, correctly. Tapping the remaining cards together, he placed the deck on Stan's desk.

And thus, the freaky four were left to their own devices.

" What're we playin'? Poker?" Kenny questioned, picking up his cards and looking at the hand. Kyle frowned a tiny bit as he shook his head hard enough to rock his curls.

" No. I don't wanna play poker," he muttered, folding his cards close to his lips to disguise the smile that washed over his lips. This smile moved through his eyes, however, as Cartman absentmindedly reached over to fix some of the fall away curls that blocked the striking green of his eyes from being seen. As soon as that hand was removed, he lowered his cards, for his face was cold and empty once more, " We don't really have anything to bet,"

" So? Why don't we bet. . . . uhhh. . . I'unno. . Gay stuff?" Kenny implored with a scrunch of his nose and aimless waving of his hands. His cards moved too fast to be seen, although all of the other three did their best to spy numbers.

" Gay stuff?" Kyle said, repeating the phrase with a distinct hint of sarcasm. Kenny wasn't put off at all, if he even noticed.

" Yeah, like blowjobs an' shit," the pervert clarified with a grin much like a famous purple stripped cat. Cartman gave him a look while both Kyle and Stan exchanged a stare of disbelief at his brash suggestion. Kenny, of course, giggled at their faces, his cards touching his lips as he did.

" I don't want a blowjob from any of you guys," the Nazi told them with firm resolution behind every word. Kenny pouted in the only way that they'd ever seen him pout before: mutely with an adorable little lip tremble that was really suppressed laughter or rage, depending on the moment. This moment, it was laughter, and the smile that formed immediately thereafter confirmed that.

" I'd rather not," Kyle said flatly, examining his cards. Stan let out a low sigh as he rearranged his cards. Giving a shrug, the activist placed his cards on the table without letting go of the edges.

" So, what are we playing?"

" I don't know. Let's play something everybody knows," Kyle mumbled towards his best friend's question. Two blue eyes rolled up into blond hair and back down with a noticeable amount of pause.

" Like what? Go fish?" the poor boy joked, bouncing slightly in his seat. Cartman snickered at the idea, but Kyle actually looked mildly offended. His voice certainly was when he sneered out his response to the two of them.

" Yeah. What's wrong with Go fish?"

" Uh, it's a _kid's _game," Cartman reminded him coldly, leaning back in his chair. He rested one elbow on the back of it and began to lazily fan himself with the cards. Not one of them mentioned how the desk groaned under the shift of his girth nor how tight the fit was for his massively arched belly. It was something the Jew eyed, though, before he quickly went back to playing with his five cards. The light tinge to his pale cheeks went under the radar as the red of his hair hid it nicely.

" I like go fish," Stan snapped, wholly redirecting the attention towards their card game. Those sugary honey eyes rolled with that mark of precision that was renown for the teenager. The same precision of mocking could be heard in his voice when he next spoke.

" You would,"

" Shut up, fat ass," Kyle cut in with a curt snap. The rose to his cheeks had been extinguished by the ice of his biting words. Jabbing a finger at that fat face, he narrowed his eyes. The smallest flicker of burning white heat expanded within his stomach, " You're the most juvenile of us all,"

" Bite me. I am not," he snarled, turning his eyes down to look at the iced emeralds looking right back of him. Cartman gave Kyle an inviting half smile as if asking how long he would have to wait this time for the coup d'e-tat of his control in their conversation. A jolt of fire entered the Jew's bloodstream.

" Jesus Christ, not again. . ." Stan interrupted before the blaze could enrage the blood into a roaring inferno. Kyle frowned while Cartman let out a frustrated sigh and gave the opposing wall a dirty expression of sheer agitation. This time, however, the two felt the need to address the intrusion to their fiery tango meant for only two.

" What's with you, Stan? We always fight," the Nazi remarked with a idle gesture between him and the Jew. Kyle nodded in agreement as he chewed on his lower lip.

" I know," Stan said with a pause as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. Kenny didn't say anything, but he did tap his dirt coated shoe on top of the activist's sneaker, " It's just too early,"

" Oh, jus' get that stick outta yer ass an' you'll be fine," Cartman's voice went dead flat as he said it. The rolling emotions behind the words were almost too bitter to hear, for they screamed in volumes of wicked moonlight topics. The lost of emotion to the voice, though, was not the worse. That was the darkness that erased the feeling within those honey eyes. Sugar fell into death so quickly that the other three didn't dare address the teasingly cold comment made.

" Yeah, really, Stanley. We fight like this _every _morning," Kyle took it upon himself to help them all avoid a fight that would turn into something not even he could control. Casually, he looked over at Cartman, to which end he was granted a mildly expression look in return.

" Don't call me Stanley, Kyle," Stan growled with a touch of true anger to a voice that otherwise continued to be blank. The Jew's black look of hate was unmarked, and unchecked, as it came out without his control.

" I'll call you whatever the hell I want to," he barked, again with checking his anger. The restrained fire threatened to burst through in a screaming fit of incoherent terms of 'endearment'. Instead, he swallowed dryly and choked back the bubbling rage with tightly pursed lips. Stan, on the other hand, stared at him in gaped emptiness, as though attempting to figure out how he'd gotten his best friend so angry, so quickly.

" That's right, Kahl. Tell your man what's what," Cartman teased in a playfully innocent voice. His eyes had returned to their tasty lightness.

" His man?" the activist repeated in a withdrawn voice. He clearly didn't feel the need to probe further into his millisecond long argument with Kyle; if it had even been such a thing. His aquamarine eyes rested on Cartman as the much heavier boy waved his cards in the air in a fluttering motion.

" Yeah. I figure you're the one that takes it up the ass since you're always so uptight in the mornin'," he laughed as he said it, holding the cards in front of his face in mocking modesty. Stan's face tensed while Kyle gave the Nazi a bored, but annoyed look. Kenny, however, giggled shrilly in a strangled manner before his dirty face went slack and blank behind his blond hair. Cartman leaned forward, chuckling under his breath, and spoke into his fanned out cards like a geisha speaking to a client through a fan of feathers, " Do it to ya too hard?"

" Fuck you. We're not gay," Stan retorted venomously, his eyes narrowing slightly around the edges. Cartman snickered and pushed himself back into his previous position. He somberly nodded his head, tapping his cards on arch of his heavy belly.

" Right. Right. You're 'homosexual'," he rephrased, grinning a grin so vile, it sent shivers down the Jew's spine straight into his toes. Stan, however, flared up with obvious anger on his face. Cartman continued to smile at him, unmoved by the explosion of rage within the apathetic activist.

" Kyle!" Stan snapped, jerking his head in the direction of his best friend. He need not state the purpose of said exclamation. Kyle automatically jumped into the fight with a slam of his fist down on the desk. The cards held in his other hand tilted in as his grip tightened.

" Knock it off, fat ass!" he spat out harshly, eyes glowing with the anger renown of him. The smile on Cartman's face never faltered, not even once, " You know we're not dating!"

" I know you'd _like _to be," the Nazi replied in a truly commendable tone. He couldn't have sounded nicer about it. Despite his voice, his topaz eyes were livid with a hungry fury that danced in glinting motions. Kyle gritted his teeth, hard, and nearly bent his cards in half in the burst of embers that washed through his flushed flesh.

" Ugh," Stan groaned out, resting his forehead on the curve of his arm. Whether he was doing so because of what Cartman was saying, or because he had unknowingly started the very fight he'd been trying to avoid, though, was debatable. Either way, Kyle pointed a finger at the eyes that invoked such an impassioned reaction from him.

" That is _not _true!"

" Whatevah. Kinny an' I both know it's true. Right, Kinny?" he looked down at where the petite blond was reading and rereading his card numbers. Kenny blinked as if confused as to who these three people were and where he was and just what he was doing there. Then, he removed his stare and returned it to the black and red in front of him without a single trickle of emotion.

" No,"

" What?" Cartman questioned with a touch a confusion. The underlying feeling to the word, though, was unmistakably agitation at having to ask the question in the first place.

" They ain't datin'," the poor boy clarified unnecessarily. Nonchalantly, he shrugged and drummed his fingers on the desk. Then, he motioned in between Stan and Kyle with a budding smile of written taunt, " Stan could never afford Kyle,"

" What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?" the Jew demanded, tearing his watchful eyes away from Cartman and directing their heavy gaze at Kenny. He was presented with a devious, little smile that melted over his hot skin like butter. A cold splash threatened to quench the fires within when he was face to face with the frozen sapphires that hurt to stare into.

" It's means ya an expensive piece of ass. That's what it means," Kenny explained with a soft giggled tacked on the end. A flare went up and through Kyle's very soul as he exploded in a burst of hysteria that punctured every word that rolled off his cutting tongue. He couldn't believe he was yelling at Kenny, but he couldn't stop himself. He smashed his hands onto the desk and fastened a hard glare on that angelic face.

" I am not an expensive piece of ass! I'm not even a piece of ass!"

" Whatevah," Cartman interjected, waving his hand of cards towards the micro expression of outrage on the activist's face. Doing so, however, prevented a furious fight from breaking out, even if his intention was no better, " I still say they're bangin' it,"

" That's it. I'm goin' to class," Stan snatched his bag off the ground with a jerk. As he went to get to his feet, Cartman smacked Kenny in the arm with a pop and a meaningful expression. Kenny grabbed hold of the activist's shirt. When he did, however, he did so at the same time as Kyle. Sapphire and emerald met for a brief stare that was unreadable.

" Stan, don't go," Kyle pleaded without ever sounding desperate. He looked at the empty hate in those light eyes. Stan, though, shook his head and made a clear stopping motion with his free hand.

" No way. I'd rather listen to the science teacher bitch," he stated in a rather stern voice for someone of his age. Kyle frowned that deep frown that clearly said he was not amused with the turn of events. Stan's continual exposure to the expression over the years meant it had no effect on him whatsoever. Thus, Kyle was forced to verbalize his frustration.

" Oh, don't! You're being a baby!"

" Fag," Cartman muttered vaguely, rolling his eyes in his usual manner of speaking; so to speak. Stan awarded the remark with a disgusted look of resolute hatred the color of water with the feel of fire.

" Fuck you, Cartman!" he shouted, raising his voice to a volume that was barely loud for most people. Running off the tongue of the activist, it was strong and bitter enough to strike a cord within the group. Before the Nazi or the Jew could react, though, Kenny weakly tugged on Stan's shirt. The shirt barely moved, although Stan still turned his softening eyes to the poor boy's face. Kenny, on the other hand, looked across the desks to where the red head was.

" Leggo, Kyle," Kenny whined without ever reaching the whining level; a talent only he had ever mastered. Kyle's face was overtaken by bewilderment. He couldn't stop himself. He just spat out the first thing that came to mind within the sudden change of emotion.

" What?"

" I said leggo," the blond repeated, making a terribly innocent face of distaste. Kyle cast a glance over at the unhelpful grin of Cartman, then returned to facing the pretty blue eyes of the other.

" Let go of what?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His curls fell in waves into his face, eliminating the broken rage that was usually unavoidable. The soft, plush curls eased his expression into something warmer, although it was impossible to tell. Kenny didn't seem to care about said change. His tone never shifted. It just grew much more sure, losing even more of the whine associated with the manner he spoke.

" Stan," Kenny informed him, his voice dipping into the possessive tone he was prone to using when referring to objects like his jacket and the like. The Jew slowly leaned back, looking down at where he continued to hold onto the activist's Raging Pussies' shirt.

" Uhhhh. . . Okay," he released his hold on his friend's shirt. The moment that he did, Kenny tugged on it much more effectively. The shirt pulled at Stan's waist as the poor boy pouted in his manner. As he had previously, Stan looked down at him and raised his eyebrows in a unconcerned way.

" What?"

" Sit," he commanded, pulling on the shirt. He used both hands for emphasis, twisting his slender body towards the brunette. Stan shook his head, pulling his book bag onto one shoulder.

" No,"

" _Sit,_" Kenny ordered, his voice stressing the command to a new level. Stan repeated his action and answer all over again, refusing the order. At that, Kenny burst into a whine that was actually a whine. His eyes pleaded in hollow notes while he dragged his hands down, tugging the shirt enough to cause the activist's body to tilt in towards him. All around the tables, stares were exchanged until the poor boy asked his question in a casually desperate tone lost somewhere between a sharp demand and loving complaint, "Why won't you _ssssiiiittt? _"

" Well, Jesus, Kenny, don't cry," Kyle teased in an almost serious voice. Nevertheless, he smiled privately as he was wholeheartedly ignored by the blond who continued to nonverbally persuade Stan into staying with them. Cartman, on the other hand, rolled his eyes as he fanned himself with the cards fanned out in his hand.

" You're all a buncha fags," the Nazi mumbled, giving the ceiling a deliciously bored stare that was really an extended eye roll; another technique he had perfectly over his childhood. Kyle, though, was not amused. He didn't hesitate to bite at the bait by jabbing a finger into Cartman's face yet again that morning.

" Fuck you! I'm not gay!" the Jew snapped, grinding his teeth afterwards when he was given such a pretty smile in response. As they were gearing up for another argument, however, Stan let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. His back pack slipped from his shoulder to the floor with a loud thud that made a couple outsiders jump.

" _Fine. _Whatever," he breathed out while dropping into his seat in a somewhat defeated way. Regardless, Kenny grinned that catty smile as he let go of his death grip on that grey shirt. Shaking out his blond hair, as if shaking away the air of femininity that had been coating him, he pressed his back into the chair. Smugly, he fanned out his cards and eyed the other three over their blue designed backs.

" Alright, bitches, we playin' go fish or not?" the poor boy asked without a trace of any of the previous emotions. His face had returned to the normal Kenny McCormick expression: mildly amused, highly bored, and devastatingly pretty.

" I'm game," Cartman replied, moving his gaze from the Jew to the blond. Stan and Kyle both gave their consent to proceed with the shrugs and arrogant smiles of two people who were okay with this turn of events from the get go.

The game was then set and the cards started to switch hands. The rules were casually reminded of by the responsible Jew when a slyly smiling Kenny attempted to cheat the activist out of more cards than he was entitled to. From there, the game proceeded through the first couples of hands without a hitch. Cards were tossed over with faces made and victorious laughter granted. Jokes were made at luck and other's expense. A few times, Stan was required to stop a fight from breaking loose whenever Cartman blamed a bad streak of luck of Kyle's on his religion. Once, even, when times got a bit too heated and ready to explode, Kenny opened up his jacket fully and did a bit of a belly dancing routine so that the woman splashed over his chest appeared to be dancing. While only Kyle seemed to notice the woman, they all snickered and laughed as the blond grinned and let his jacket fall shut again.

As soon as it had, their attention was diverted from their cards. Outside in the hall during the first changing of classes, the four heard the distinct voice of Wendy Testaburger. Her shrilly feminine voice that wholly retained it's tone from childhood broke loose in a flurry of expletives unbefitting such a girly tone. All that was said, though, could not be made out over the shuffling of sneakers and the cat calling of those bearing witness to the screaming match. Before they could mutter suggestions on the victim, his voice broke out in defense of a crime he seemed to believe hadn't taken place. The boy was none other than Token Black. His deepening, barely smug, tone overshadowed her voice momentarily. They battled for the lead several times. This came to a halting stop, though, when Wendy shrieked that she decidedly didn't want to hear it and footsteps in high heels marched from the door. Silence descended on the room filled with more outsiders and the four.

A moment later, Token sulked into Garrison's classroom. He shared the same period of English with the four, so he too was cutting class and entering into a room that he wasn't supposed to be in. Like them, he didn't appear to care. Instead, he proceeded to the very back of the classroom, to the opposite side of the room from the freaky four. There, he dropped into a seat with a colored on top and buried his face in his arms. His short hair pressed into the arm of his designer shirt because of how hard he shoved his head into the nook of his arm in that attempt to disappear. He didn't say a word to anyone. He just remained like that, unmoving.

Garrison didn't even look up from the page of the magazine spread out on that wide expanse of naughty pictures.

" Didja shut the door?" came that Southern drawl as a page was flipped to the side and the magazine turned to better the view. In the back of the class, Token remained focused on not doing a thing. Thus, no answer was given. The silence, though, was all the answer needed, " Will one a ya fags shut the damn door? I don't wanna be hearin' that shit out there,"

One of the pale faced, doe eyed outsiders got to his feet and scurried over to the door. He quietly shut it and made like a mouse back to his desk and his collection of equally 'freshmeat' friends. Closer to the door, the four returned to the cards dealt out in front of them. Kyle picked up a card and added it to his hand without a word as to the new arrival. A green flicker in Stan's direction indicated the next contestant. The activist wet his lips and glanced at all the eyes waiting for his proposition.

" Got any threes?" he finally asked, nodding firmly in confidence. A voice came from behind in answer, though.

" No, retard, I'm not playin'," Garrison mumbled, still proving to be loud enough to be heard over the minimal chatter of the people supposed to be there. Stan looked from side to side in what might have passed for confusion on an incredibly subtle scale. Then he twisted to look at the teacher who continued to examine the new angle on the picture.

" I wasn't talking to you, Ms. Garrison,"

" Just be quiet an' play ya stupid game,"

" Uh. . . Okay," the activist cautiously turned back to the card game with his closest companions. There was a group shrug that attributed the interruption to the usual insanity of being within the confines of said classroom. Clearing his throat, Stan repeated his previous question, " Got any threes?"

" Go fish," Cartman said without expression or emotion. His face held less in it than Stan's, which was saying plenty by itself. Beside him, Kyle tapped a finger against the cards in his hand. Honey orbs watched as he did so, a faint smile appearing on the Nazi's face.

" You know, I heard Token was at Ruby Tuesday's with BeBe," Kyle stated as a matter of fact, smoothing his thumb over the edge of the card. His mention of gossip steered the entire conversation towards one of their favorite past times: sizing up and ranking on everyone they knew on a first name basis. In many cliques, it was considered idle gossip. Within the freaky four, it was a chance to pass around meaningful mistakes and hurts and pick them down until they had had enough time to dish up something about one of the four sitting in front of them. They begin as they always did.

With Eric Cartman's assessment of the prime suspect.

" BeBe's a fuckin' whore,"

" The fuck's he doin' at Ruby Tuesday's with BeBe?" Kenny asked, scrunching up his nose a tiny bit. Stan shrugged as he glanced down to the floor when he felt something tap against his sneaker. Kenny smiled softly as he tapped his shoe against the activist's once again. Nothing was said of the gesture, although when Stan looked back up, the corners of his mouth were turned up in an almost unnoticeable smile.

" Dunno. That's just what I heard,"

" You didn't hear nothing else?" the poor boy pressed, closing his jacket over the bare portion of his belly absentmindedly. Cartman sneered as he sank an inch or two into his seat. The arch of his stomach pushed that much more into the top of his swastika adorned desk. Still, none of the other three mentioned a thing about it.

" No," Kyle responded, dropping his gaze momentarily his rival's vast middle. Feeling a touch of heat rising to his face, though, he quickly shifted his gaze anywhere but.

" BeBe's a whore. He was lookin' to get laid. Duh," Cartman informed them sternly. He didn't sound as if he thought this topic was worth the time they were giving it. Nevertheless, he offered his own opinion, and he did so loudly and rudely. Kyle made a face at his suggestion, but Kenny just puckered his lips.

" Then why the hell take her to Ruby Tuesday's?" he inquired, tilting his head back to look straight up at the Nazi. Doing so caused his hood to fall onto his shoulders. Noting it, he nudged his foot energetically against Stan's. He didn't cease the motion until Stan had looked in his direction and offered him a smile in return. Grinning happily, the pervert returned to the conversation, " Shouldn't he've taken her to TGI Fridays?"

" BeBe's an expensive whore. She won't put out if you take her to TGI Friday's," Eric calmly explained as he examined the cards he was holding. The Jew shook his head violently and gestured to the heavier boy as he made quick work of fixing the curls that spilled over his ears.

" Ruby Tuesday's is _not _expensive," the red head spat out rather agitatedly. Cartman folded the cards casually over the roll of his belly in order to reach out to the other. He playfully pushed the red curls away, got his hand smacked, and returned to looking at the cards, " Red Lobster is expensive,"

" I don't know, okay? Maybe she likes their food," the Nazi responded, grinning a fantastically coy smirk. He was given a look of equal measure from his rival, " Who fuckin' cares?"

" I thought he was dating Wendy," Stan wasn't asking. The statement probably should have been a question, yet it wasn't. The next to lifeless look to his eyes made that very clear.

" Hence the fight, dumbass," Cartman sneered, gesturing with his cards towards the door behind the group. Stan made a face at him that melted quickly into the gentlest of smiles when he felt another nudge to his toes. Kenny caught the smile and returned it, lowering his head so that his hair fell into his eyes. Kyle, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and frowned.

" Don't be an asshole. We're just making conversation here, Cartman," he mildly snapped, adjusting one of his fluffy curls. He was wholeheartedly ignored as the bigger boy looked across the desks to where Stan was eyeing the way Kenny's hair shielded his blue eyes from sight.

" Shouldn't you be runnin' off to whisk Wendy away, Stan?"

" Why would I do that?" the activist idly asked, turning towards the Nazi. Thus, he missed the way Kenny puckered his lips in a vivid expression of distaste. He really looked like he wanted to spit out a disgusting tasty treat when he spat out harsh, biting words instead. The effect seemed to reveal him all the same of the sour expression on his otherwise attractive face.

" Don't you do it _every _fuckin' time she breaks up with Token?"

" I told you it's over between us," Stan said it to the group, but the only person he was staring at was Kenny. He firmly stared into those sparkling sapphires and he made every word as final as the one that proceeded and followed it. Then, nodding in the same matter, he glanced back down at his cards, " Does anyone have any threes?"

" 'Ey! I said no," Cartman barked at him, giving him a dark look for no real reason. Kyle sighed out and informed his best friend of a similar answer. The poor boy, however, grinned foolishly and bobbed his blond head up and down rapidly.

" I got a three," Kenny chirped energetically, bouncing his foot up and down on the toes of the activist. Cartman and Kyle shared a mute, brief stare while Stan held his hand out to those dirty fingers gripping a couple of the Jew's cards.

" So, give it here,"

" It's never over between you. You're her bitch in shinin' armor," Cartman teased, cutting into the grinning trades of Kenny and Stan. Kenny's smile vanished until it was replaced with his usual form of pouting. Stan, on the other hand, wet his lips in a subtle form of furious anger. As always, the Nazi smiled and fanned himself with the cards in complete nonchalance to any daggers shot towards him.

" Yeah, well, I'm done. I've been done for three months," he coldly informed them all without a trace of emotion to his flat voice. Kyle arched an eyebrow, but his expressional question was verbalized by his much heavier counterpart.

" So?"

" So, it's over," Stan hissed with noted bitterness. He chewed on his tongue, a flare of rage rising in his usual calm seas of eyes. That hurricane brewing was quenched with a damningly satisfying sentence, " I'm tired of that bitch,"

" Oooh, 'bitch'. She must've really pissed you off," Kyle probed, running the tips of his fingers over the edges of the cards. Cartman warmly agreed with a cold smile, moving his sugary eyes between the two friends. As Stan was opening his mouth, though, there was a cutting sound of disgust from the other end of the desks. Their attention was moved to Kenny, who swallowed as if he was trying to swallow something choking him.

" Let's not fuckin' talk about this," he mumbled with remarkable control to a voice that sounded on the verge of screaming hysteria. Clearing his throat, he cast them a visibly fake smile, " It's borin',"

" Yeah. Your move, Ken," Stan concurred with a subtly passionate smile. He casually reached over and plucked up the three held between two dirt smudged fingers with cut up knuckles. Those fingers smoothed over his as the card was taken, a Cheshire smile grinning at him behind the dirty orange and tangled blond covers that were the shields to Kenny.

Forced to look away with a shaky breath, Stan eyed the fallen form of Token. He saw the way his designer clothes hugged his highly well built form. Surprisingly, he didn't feel the need to call him out the way the others might have suspected he would. Rather, he just put the three into a pile of collected cards and returned to the isolation of the freaky four. Cartman was trying to pull on Kyle's hair and Kyle was viciously attempting to stop him. Both were wearing small smiles of frustration. Kenny, though, was looking at his cards with a smile on his face for no reason known. Biting his lower lip before smiling, Stan tapped his sneaker on top of Kenny's foot. He saw a jolt of shock in those sapphires followed by a striking smile in his direction.

" Got any fives?" the poor boy uttered, looking to the side at the activist's grinning face. They shared a private look while Cartman rolled his eyes and conceded the fight to Kyle. He ceased his attack of those bubbly curls before answering the question asked.

" Go fish,"

" You never have anything. I think you're cheating," Stan accused Cartman, jabbing his finger at him. There was no conviction to his voice, but that was merely because it was Stan Marsh. His voice was flat until needed to be otherwise. Accusing Eric Cartman had become such an everyday event that his voice didn't need it.

" Took you this long to figure it out?" Kyle muttered under his breath as he cast a scathing look up and down the rather full figure of the reclining Nazi. He was presented with a one armed shrug as Cartman replied expectedly.

" I'm not cheatin',"

" Bullshit," the activist pointed at Cartman with more precision this time. His aquamarine eyes even narrowed around the edges; a sure sign of rising anger within. As he was prone to violent outbursts, for a 'hippie', the Nazi made quick work of silencing him.

" I'm not," he assured him as he turned his cards around and flashed the bunch to the other three. Within the hand, there were no threes, no fives, and none of the other cards that had been suggested throughout the game. Kenny grinned at the cards, his eyes saying he was making plans to nick as many as he could. Cartman, though, flipped the bird to Stan, " Fuck off,"

" Oh, please. You've been cheating at this game since we were _four,_" the Jew sneered out, completing the notion with a gorgeous eye roll. His sediment was returned with another rude hand gesture in his direction.

" Screw you, Jew,"

" I still think you're cheating," Stan grumbled, eyeing him suspiciously. Slowly, however, he turned his head to the poor boy messing with his cards and hood interchangeably," And go fish, Ken,"

" Whatevah. Don't be jealous,"

" Ah, shut up, Eric. We all know you cheat," Kenny playfully cooed, tilting his head towards the Nazi. Two honey eyes grew bored at him, although there was a smile handed over. Snickering, the pervert drew up a card and tucked it away.

" Whatevah,"

The cast away word was the last of its kind as the game proceeded in hissing and laughing silence. Cards were tossed down and scooped up with faces made to express feelings directed at the turn of the hand. After a couple of rounds, however, it became clear that the conversation of last was ready for a second going. Stan gritted his teeth as Cartman snatched up a Jack from Kenny. Taking no more of this, the activist slammed his hand down and pointed directly at that fat face. His outburst occurred just as the door to Garrison's classroom was opened.

" You _did not _have any Jack's when you showed us your hand last time!" he shouted without ever screaming. Cartman frowned at the second accusation but it was Kyle who interjected with an expressionless tone coupled with the smallest of smiles turning up his lips.

" I told you he cheats,"

" Like you really remember what I had," Cartman curtly told Stan, glancing over as Kyle raised his eyebrows arrogantly. Stan spat out the first thing that came to mind as his eyes lit up with a familiar rush of hatred. The tidal wave building in those serene orbs was beginning to match that of a typhoon as he spoke.

" There weren't any Jacks!"

" You had one ten, one seven, one Queen, one King, and one eight. And they were all hearts," the Jew calmly interrupted with the same smile of before. He was cast a truly exasperated look by the Nazi that he matched with a pleasant look of innocence.

" How do you remember that shit?" Cartman demanded as he moved his weight forward to rest his arm on the desk. Two emeralds faced him as the lick of fire moved over Kyle's neck and shoulders in a caressing tease. He smiled a fiery expression that cried out to be matched by equally fury.

" Because. You cheat. I memorized it," Kyle told him with deliberate calmness to his voice. The ball of embers within was beginning to uncurl and spread it's white, hot fingers to the inner reaches of his mind. Still, he suppressed the bait to a mild smile as he wet his lips tentatively. The calculating grin which he received eased the fire into his blood. There was expectation to those sugary, tasty eyes that was moving towards the same goal he was.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

" How the hell do you memorize shit so quickly?" Kenny asked in the bewilderment reflective of their conversation in the hallway earlier. Kyle opened his mouth to answer harshly when Stan held his hand out to Cartman. He made a 'come here' motion with his fingers alone as he snapped at the Nazi.

" You're out, Cartman. Hand over your cards,"

" Goddammit," he hissed, turning his full cheek into his shoulder in agitation. Rather than glaring at the wall, however, he looked dead on into the burning stare of the Jew. A half smile of teasing, torturous blood lust washed over his face. He seemed to address Kyle alone when he sneered out his next line, " I was gonna win, too,"

" Of course you were," Kyle whispered venomously back. He took the bait and he swallowed it hungrily, greedily. He felt the fire burning, felt the flames igniting, and he felt the look running over his slender body. The last bit, spoken lower, rolled off his tongue with menacing heat to their very sound, " You _cheated,_"

Cartman gave Kyle a glare that was sharp as a knife and as profoundly aimed as an arrow. The combination jolted fire to the heated face of the Jew in a white flash of shivers. Choking on the acid in his throat, Kyle removed his widened eyes from the practiced taunt of his closest rival. Instead, he looked towards where several of their 'crew' slinked into the classroom from the outside hell. Cards were thus slapped into Stan's outstretched fingers as the conversation, the heat, and the flames died down. It was directed at the three people who were weaving their way through the deer in headlights that were the outsider freshmeat.

That title decidedly didn't work for Craig Tucker, Clyde Donavan, or Tweek Tweak. Those three were members of the insiders; people who had grown up in close connection to the freaky four. Although not their closest friends outside each other, they were viewed with neutral lens. They had their own quirks and plenty of demons that attributed to their gang's silent alliance with the four. As it was, however, they did not acknowledge the four sets of jewel eyes on them. They moved through the drags of human waste to the back. They were obviously there for support of Token. He didn't fit well with their gang, not since middle school, but they had been close in elementary. Somehow, even in the dim lights of freshman year, the days of that school called out to them all.

Nevertheless, the four were equally different. Craig had grown into the darker look of nonchalance with deep blues and greys making up the majority of his wardrobe. His jet black hair was cut with a razor, despite it remaining hidden underneath a knit hat he wasn't supposed to be wearing. Clyde had long since given up on the boy styles that had proceeded him throughout his early years. His semi curvy body was squeezed into a gorgeous shirt of red and jeans with stars on the pockets. The look was reflective of his usual attire: femininely butch. As per usual, Tweek was shivering in a loose, ill buttoned green shirt that hit him at mid thigh. His jeans were ratty in an official way, from wear and tear only. The weight of his younger days had melted away until he was on the skinny side as the McCormick children. His wide lime eyes stared vaguely at the others with their bored and dead expressions on mild indifference.

Upon reaching Token's forlorn body, Tweek wrapped his arms about his stomach and hung his head in a globally accepted stance of the sick. Clyde took a hearty bite out of a candy bar and slipped up next to Craig. There was no reason why he stood as close to him as he did, but he did. Craig, on the other hand, twisted around to flash the bird to the whole of the classroom. His gesture was seen by Garrison, who arched an eyebrow at the motion. The freaky four grinned in greeting while the class recoiled.

" Oh flip yerself off, ya damn fag," Garrison growled out, flipping a page in yet another naughty magazine. A hand was idly waved in the direction of the wide, open doorway, " Someone better fuckin' shut that goddamn door,"

There was a moment of pause throughout the classroom. The freaky four all snickered at the suggestion as they continued to ignore their teacher. Craig's gang wasn't keen to react in any way either. In fact, all they responded with was a loud, meaningless exclamation from Tweek. Eventually, then, one of the pathetic twigs of meat of the actual class hurried to shut the door to avoid a bitch fit. As he returned to his seat with pride, eyes were rolled and a page was shifted. A muttered cut down burst the sorry boy's pride with a sharp prick from the teacher unimpressed.

" Retarded kiss ass,"

As a light giggle flooded over the class, Stan finished sorting his victory cards from Cartman. He carefully placed them into the piles and places that they were supposed to. These places consisted of little piles on his desk, all of which were arranged according to a mental map. When he finished, he smiled briefly at the blank faces of his closest companions. Cartman, however, quickly rolled his eyes with that perfected measure of mocking fun.

" OCD much,"

" Screw you," Stan snapped back, flipping his Nazi pal off with a wave of the hand to emphasis his point. His gesture was waved off lazily as those honey eyes glanced over at the crowd of insiders on the opposing side of the room.

" Anyone notice Tweek looks like shit?" Cartman asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. The action dramatically accented the massive expanse of his middle, but the accent was ignored. The only motion made to recognize it, in fact, was the superficial smile on Kenny's lips and the blushing burning to Kyle's emeralds.

" Tweek always looks like shit," the activist remarked dryly, tapping his fingers on the desk in a vain attempt to figure out which move he should proceed with. Underneath the table, Kenny's foot tapped his and he innocently nudged it back. Above the table, however, they didn't even look at each other; even as smiles formed on their lips.

" Yeah, he really hasn't handled the 'pressure' of freshman year very well," Kyle replied, moving forward and resting his weight on his elbows. He knew doing so put him much closer to Cartman, but he did so anyways. He coyly moved his gaze to the side to look at the Nazi, but he didn't receive the biting remark about his change of positions that he had expected.

" He looks hung over," Cartman stated, still looking over at the group doing somewhat of a heartfelt job at comforting Token. Frowning, Kyle fell back against his chair. Doing so gathered a half smile from the Nazi. It slipped like sugar down the Jew's back.

" It's not summer yet. Tweek doesn't drink during the school year," Stan absentmindedly reminded them as he picked up one of his stacks, " None of them do,"

" God knows they need to. Might help 'im calm down," Kenny joked, puckering his lips into a wonderfully innocent pout. Stan smiled slightly as he put the last stack into a new position. He turned his eyes to the group whereas Cartman rolled his and addressed the whole.

" Why don't they drink during the school year?"

" I'unno," the activist answered half heartedly. He exaggerated the sentence with a double shrug of his shoulders.

" I think we're the only kids that do, actually," Kyle softly whispered in a voice that shouldn't have been a whisper. There was too much strength to his words. Still, he breathed them out like a curse not meant for any ears; not even their own.

A frozen silence halted the conversation at the freaky four's desks. Their eyes met in the center, a tragic gaze of emerald, sapphire, aquamarine, and topaz. The gazes overlapped as Kyle turned his head down, Kenny smiled coyly, Stan glanced away, and Cartman remained an empty stare of hollowness. Slowly, cards were shuffled, the still was broken, and the gaze shattered with a soft smile of fragile beauty of the angelic kind. Kenny's smile moved through their lips and drew from them nervous laughter, strained grins, and apologetic shoulder rolls. Having shaken the tremble of cold creeping up from wishfully forgotten bottles, the conversation resurrected itself without effort on their part.

" I think Clyde has something to do with it," Stan suggested, tilting his head as if that would incline the rest to his favor. Kyle nodded stiffly while Cartman raised his eyebrows across the table at the other brunette.

" Clyde?"

" Yeah. Clyde. The chubby brunette. Cries a lot," the activist mocked, a half smile jolting over his flat affect. Cartman made a face at him that made Kyle snicker beyond his control. The rivals shared a devastatingly short exchange of honey sugar and cold emeralds before attentions were returned to Stan.

" I _know _who he is, smartass," the Nazi sneered with surprising annoyance. Stan held up his palms in a mute form of surrender that was disregarded, " I mean, what's he got to do with anythin'?"

" In case you haven't noticed, he's gone on a really high health kick lately," the Jew cut in to save Stan some face before he was torn asunder by their vicious counterpart. Cartman leaned slightly to the side to peer around those red curls to see where Clyde was patting Token absentmindedly on the shoulder. The crybaby of the insiders took a second bite out of his candy bar while Cartman glanced at Kyle.

" Yeah, 'cause Snickers are _sssoooo_ healthy," he cooed out in teasing pleasure as he settled back into his seat. Kyle's face got a momentarily sour expression while a spark shot from his hot head to his toes.

" I _meant _he's decided not to drink and smoke," Kyle retorted, moving forwards as though literally moving into the biting statement. Cartman didn't appear to be concerned with the hatred dripping off those frozen words. Rather, he shrugged and asked the Jew a simple question with a simple, mild tone that was shockingly infuriating.

" Why?"

" I think he got hung over and woke up next to someone he didn't know," Stan explained, looking up from his cards. He cut in with a manner that suggested he could feel the rising flames. As he had all morning, he put a stop to the brewing argument attempting to flirt its way into a full blown bitch fest. Neither Kyle or Cartman appeared pleased with said decision.

" Bullcrap," Cartman snapped in a dark voice. He redirected his frustrations at Stan with little trouble, despite the fact that he continued to tilt his eyes in the direction of his favorite enemy, " Clyde could never put away that much,"

" Yeah? Why not? He puts away enough food," the activist offhandedly jeered, a full blown grin forming on his lips. Kyle gapped at him for his daring while Cartman rolled his eyes in a wholly unimpressed manner. Kenny, on the other hand, let out a chuckle as he smacked his cards down onto the desk.

" Amen to that, brotha!" the poor boy exclaimed, folding his hands in the form of a prayer. He snickered into his fingertips to the laughter of the activist. The Jew, though, shook his head in disapproval in spite of the catty smile building in his devilishly wicked lips.

" Oh, guys, knock it off," Kyle said without his usual conviction. Cartman waved the group off with his cards in a truly dismissive sort of way. The snickers faded away as Kenny peered through his messy hair at the Nazi.

" Clyde's a light weight," Cartman informed them as a matter of fact. A wide, sickly pleased grin swept across the pervert's dirt smeared face. Kyle opened his mouth in silently semi amused shock. Stan, however, motioned with both hands to the large curve to the other's waistline. When he did, all four sets of their eyes moved down to that expanse.

" Only compared to you,"

" I ain't that much bigger than him," he replied without the slightly hint of concern to where the whole lot of his closest friends were staring. Stan arched an eyebrow while Kenny burst into a fit of schoolgirl style giggles. Kyle, however, quickly turned his head to avoid looking at the weight gathered at his rival's middle. There was a tinge of fire dancing over his cheeks, but, again, the hue of his locks hide it surprisingly well.

" Yeah. Okay. Whatever you say, fat boy," Stan mumbled as he turned his eyes upwards in a disbelieving dismissal of the claim. Cartman gave an unconcerned shrug as Kenny collapsed onto the desk in his shrill bouts of snickers. He attempted to muffle them with his hands, but they were heard quite well. Grinning foolishly, he spread said fingers to speak through the full body seizure of hysteria.

" You weigh more than your mom's car," he hissed out, his eyes a glow and his face rouged from the laughter. Both Stan and Kyle recoiled to avoid being caught within the crossfire of the black inferno of rage that consumed those sweet honey eyes. Cartman slammed his hands down on the desk and heaved himself up without any effort. Kenny continued to laugh out loud until his friend snatched up his hood and jerked him backwards.

" _I do NOT!_" the Nazi screamed down into the suddenly still face of the blond. Two wide sapphires blinked up at the fury of madness that went from those cold eyes to the grip on the ratty jacket held in a hand that looked ready to strangle. As Kyle and Stan were scrambling to their feet to stop the inevitable thrashing, a Southern drawl broke out as a magazine was thrown into the activists' back.

" Shut the fuck up, ya retards!" Garrison cried, pointing at them as if they didn't already know they were the ones being addressed. Cartman smashed Kenny's head forward, causing it to collide with the desk, and took his seat with a considerable growl of swear words. Kyle remained standing, giving the Nazi a warning look, while Stan held up his palms towards their teacher.

" Yes, Ms. Garrison," he calmly said, taking his seat without acknowledging the magazine attack. Kenny, though, pried his face off the wood and shot a vaguely cold look in the direction of that aged face.

" Fuck off,"

" Ya watch ya mouth, McCormick!" Garrison screeched, jabbing a finger in the direction of those dimly wicked eyes, " I'll send ya to the principal's office!"

" Ya will not," Kenny sneered out. He coupled the mocking tone with a face and gloriously timed eye roll. Before he could say another thing, however, Kyle reached across the desks and whacked him in the side of the head. Cartman burst out in laughter while the poor boy whimpered and rubbed his ear with a fake hurt look to his blue eyes. Kyle shot him the same warning look he had granted the Nazi as he slipped into his seat. Stan, though, reached over and absentmindedly rubbed Kenny's head as he glanced at the foursome.

On the other side of the classroom, Clyde cast them a strange look. It was not, though, a look that went unnoticed. Cartman saw it and he smiled a devious smile that never quite reached his sweetly sugary eyes.

" What's up, Clyde?" the Nazi asked, tilting his head to the side. He gave the mildly shocked insider a wave with his fingers as he casually smiled at him. Every action of Cartman's said 'old friends', although the two couldn't have been further from it.

" Nothin'," Clyde answered, turning around slightly to look at the freaky four. All of them peered over him in a way that stated they were sizing him up. He was immune, however, and just idly motioned to them, " What're you guys talking about?"

" How tight your jeans have gotten," Cartman replied without hesitation. There was a touch of sarcastic seriousness to his otherwise heinous tone. That went quite unnoticed as a flare of white, hot, almost touchable fire engulfed the boys of the insider crowd. Craig spun around and gritted his teeth while Tweek jerked his head up. Even Token looked up from his fallen stance to cast a dark stare in their direction.

" Fuck you! Leave him alone!" Craig shouted, flipping the Nazi the bird. His voice was strongly poised like a weapon ready to strike. For someone who rarely expressed a smirk, it was like a slap across the face. Cartman, of course, just smiled at the scream as if this was the most fun he'd had all morning.

" GAH! You're one to talk!" Tweek shrieked, pounding his fists on the desk he was seated at. His voice went hysterical fast, but, really, that was nothing new. The lime explosion of hatred was, though.

" Bite me, Tweek. Fuckin' bite me," Cartman cooed, only casting the coffee addict a passing glance. His orbs remained on the blank expression on Clyde's face. Rather than bursting into tears as he would have years beforehand, he turned his expression into stone resembling the look usually gracing Craig or Stan's face. He turned that hardened expression to the unmoved smile of the Nazi.

" Don't talk about me, fat ass," he stated firmly and soundly. He even finished the command with a generous exchange of the bird. As he turned away, though, Cartman motioned to the way those jeans hugged that curved body. When he spoke, his question was about a sweet as the sugar in his eyes.

" Why? Don't like the extra weight?"

" Screw you. I'm not fat," Clyde barked back, although his voice jumped in fluster. There was no red to his cheeks, but his eyes were livid with it; with the blush his deadpan expression refused to showcase. That was enough. That was enough to make Cartman's smile twist and turn into something vile and bloodied hot. Deep, dark waters sprang to life as the emotion drained from his topaz orbs eyeing that unsuspecting insider. He never got a chance to strike at the nerves rising up.

" Cartman, shut up," Stan demanded, making a familiar halting motion with his hand. The Nazi cast him a deliciously evil sideways glance that was ignored as the activist turned around to look at the insiders, " We're not talking about you, Clyde,"

" Yes, we are," Kenny interjected as he picked up his discarded cards one by one. Stan nudged his foot roughly under the table, but the brunette was merely given a pretty smile in return. Kyle, though, waved his hands to either side. His actions gathered him the attention of both groups.

" Yeah, but not about his weight. About his drinking," the Jew reminded his posse without even bothering to look at the others. Clyde made a face that was a cross between distrust and confusion.

" I don't drink," he protested sternly, pointing to himself for further emphasis. Craig flipped him the bird while Kyle finally turned to look at him. He nodded at him, tucking his curls behind his ear so that his cat like eyes could be fully seen.

" That's what I was telling Cartman,"

" Why are you talking about me drinking?" Clyde questioned, his expression as quizzical. There probably should have been suspicion in his voice, but there wasn't. He had known the four long enough to know that when they were talking of anything outside idle gossip, it usually took five police men and an interrogation room to gather one scrap of conversation exchanged. Otherwise, their chit chat was pretty harmless. Thus, curiosity was really all he suggested with his question.

" 'Cause we already talked about Token gettin' his ass whupped by his ex girlfriend," Kenny responded with a preoccupied tone while he sorted through his bent cards. Glancing up, though, he grinned heartlessly, " Now we gotta talk 'bout somethin' else,"

" If you guys wanna talk about something else, why don't you talk about Red and her 'Censor Kenny' project?" Token offered, half smiling at the suggestion. His smile was short lived for the vast amount of liquid fury that swept over the blond's striking face. Those sapphire's darkened a considerable amount as every feature in his face went from fair to outraged.

" Her fuckin' WHAT project?" he screamed, throwing his cards back down onto the table. Stan gave him a look which was tainted with compassion before Token cut in with a repetition that only enraged the normally mute pervert.

" Her 'Censor Kenny' project,"

" You guys haven't heard yet? I thought you guys were on top of _everything,_" Craig sneered, placing his hands on his hips as he did. Kenny let out an inaudible screech that was more or less a series of strung together swears in Southern accent. Token arched an eyebrow while Tweek withdrew a couple of inches with paranoid fear etched into his forever wide eyes.

" Nope. Only if it's fat enough to be seen from where we're sittin'," Cartman explained with a vainly, complacent smile of horrendous proportions. Leaning forward to rest an elbow on the desk, he pointed directly at the suddenly blushed cheeks of the crybaby insider, " Like Clyde,"

" Fuck you! I'm not fat!" Clyde retorted, loudly and harshly without a trace of the embarrassment shown within the depths of his expression. His voice brought out a wash of flames within the Jew. Jerking back to face the fat face of his rival, he turned his emerald eyes into dark pools of burning embers.

" Shut the fuck up, Cartman! It's not funny to talk about people and their weight unless it's about you!" Kyle snapped, gesturing to the ample amount of curves gracing his friend. The Nazi smiled kindly at him, as if presented with the perfect compliment and being too modest to verbally acknowledge it. That smile, that vicious appeal, ran hot, hurtful fingers over the shoulders and back of the shivering Jew. White flames erased whatever other words which had been lurking around his mouth in a burst of speechlessness.

" Yeah, 'cause then it's just sad," Kenny breathed out in a tone that was highly knowing, even if his jeer wasn't meant to sound such a way. He was given a much more razor like gaze than that of the Jew. The smile on his dirty face, however, never faltered.

" What's with you, Cartman? Leave Clyde alone," Stan ordered, folding his cards onto the desk top. A stare was thrown his way as the Nazi waved his cards up and down the activist's person in what could be classified as agitation.

" 'Ey. You kicked me outta the game. I've got nothin' else to do but look around," he snapped in objection. Stan didn't seem amused by the reminder, although he had no chance to reply when those darkened eyes moved back to where the insiders were glaring in group annoyance, "An' I keep gettin' sidetracked by how very fat Clyde's gotten this year,"

" He has not!" Craig broke out in manic outrage. He snatched up Clyde's upper arm and jerked the crybaby back so that he was standing behind him. The stone cold feel to his heavy glare was penetrating as the hand of death, " Jus' shut up!"

" GAH! If we're talkin' about who's gotten fat this year, we should be talkin' about you!" Tweek added with a poignant jab at the heavier boy's stomach. All at once, the pull to Cartman's eyes melted into something resembling a moonless summer's eve: scorching darkness. The look caused the addict to tremble even as his eyes remained cut slices of tart lime.

" Screw you, Tweek. You're the one who looks like death warmed over twice," he growled out, resting the tips of the cards on the bulge of his overstuffed belly. Tweek squeaked, grabbing at his messy lemon locks. He twitched violently before smacking his palms down on the desk and whimpering in a completely detached way.

" I can't help the pressure! Oh GOD!" his voice was cut short as he buried his face in his arms, slamming both down onto the desk top. An electric charge roared through the faces of the insiders as Tweek broke down in a fit of nonsense and quivering twitches.

" Jesus Christ," Stan mumbled, squeezing the bride of his nose. Quickly, he turned to the vaguely distant look the Jew continued to wear. He whacked his best friend in the arm to get the attention he sought, " Kyle, get him to stop pickin' a fight before they all gang up on us,"

" _Cartman,_" Kyle came to life is a flurry of fire that jumped into his blood at Stan's command. His hand jerked back and smashed into the side of the Nazi's head. Without restraint, he snatched up that bloodied shirt as he allowed the pitch of white to overthrow his mind. Lost in the screeching heat, he hissed out the perfect threat for the moment, " If you don't knock if off, I'll tell Butters' parents that you were kissin' their son today and you won't be able to go over to his house all fuckin' summer! You'll be stuck home with your mother and your cat!"

" I NEVER kissed Butters!" Cartman screamed back with stunning rage behind every syllable of every word. Kyle yanked the heavier boy closer, so as to accent his own shouts.

" They don't need to know that! Knock it off or I'll make your summer a living hell! And don't think I won't!" the Jew threatened, releasing his shirt with a snap of his wrist. He was presented with a seductive look of pure hatred. He swallowed it whole as he eased his body back into the chair. Half heartedly, he threw back an ember enthralled stare, " I've really got nothing better to do,"

" Oh, trust me, I believe you. Fuckin' Jew," the Nazi growled back, roughly adjusting his shirt by tugging on it at his vast middle. Kyle gritted his teeth with a burning lick running over the back of his neck. Finally, Cartman waved Kyle off with a flick of his hand and a roll of his eyes, " Alright, alright,"

" There!" Kyle grabbed up a few of the cards and threw them into Cartman's face without regard to his aim, " You're dealt back in! Now, don't cheat this time and we'll let you play!"

"Ugh. Fine," Cartman moaned, gathering up the cards. He shuffled them with noticeable irk to the situation. His attitude was wholeheartedly ignored as Kyle breathed slowly to calm his heart down. Kenny grinned into his cards, nudging the toes of the activist. Stan, on the other hand, gave a half smile to the four insiders. All he got in return was a slight glare from Clyde and the finger from Craig.

From there, the game continued with little to no interruption. The cards were tossed away and snatched up with discard and greed. The freaky four stayed within the confines of their world doing this. Their words danced along the topic of television shows they had, or hadn't, seen and the people they had seen doing such and such at this and that place. The other insiders reflected their idle conversation on the opposite side of the room. Occasionally, when the topic favored it, the two groups shared gossip and rumors and traded secrets and stats. Laughter and the infrequent glare was presented on both sides until the talk ran dry and each one returned to their inner circles.

As for the outsiders, they moved and shuffled through in droves. They were cold shouldered by all the insiders as they shifted through the dim world of the teenage sanctuary of Garrison's classroom. They came and went with pale faces of either wide eyes or obsessive makeup. Every last one was freahmeat and deemed unworthy of picking out in the groups. As it was, only one had anything to do with the crowds of insiders within. One unlucky soul was targeted by a bored and losing Cartman. He made point to trip and laugh at the poor child before telling him, in a wickedly low voice, just what he could do with the threat to complain to a teacher. Aside from that, however, the two groups went about the day as such.

Throughout the class changes, other insiders made their way into the dreary walls of the room. Around fourth period, Jimmy Vulmer and Timmy rolled on in with their book bags. They wore symbols for their gang, the Crips, proudly on folded up bandanas and brass knuckles. They cracked knuckles with the guys and dished about pieces of tail from the evening before. Jimmy had a one liner too dirty for their grade level, but he told it anyway to the snickering crowds. Outsider girls cooed to them, but were turned down calmly and with jokes.

At fifth period, the giggling school girls turned high school honeys, BeBe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger, slipped on in. They were arm and arm with contrasting pink and purple princess tees and mini skirts. Around their necks, they wore necklaces emphasizing the feminist movement. Cattily, they turned their backs on Token and, instead, sweetly fell all over the freaky four with polished nails plucking at hair and shirts in teasing cuteness. Winking then, they swept to the back to gossip and pop their gum over books on legislation.

At sixth period, the final period, Leopold 'Butters' Stotch made his way into the room. His warm blond hair had grown waist long and was fastened back with a tie to keep it in a ponytail. He waved and knocked his fingers together and he sat at the desk next to the freaky four. His turquoise outfit stood out amongst their colors, but he didn't seem to notice. He just asked of them and of their conversations. They shared what they knew before dealing him in for a couple of hands of Go Fish. He lost every hand he played, but, as always, he was a graceful loser. Instead, he turned his attention to rambling about nothing in particular as the magazine pages in Garrison's stack turned and whittled down to none.

At long last, the final minute was upon the freshman.


	4. Job

The final bell to freshman year rang with triumph. Cheers echoed out from the outsiders within the other classrooms. The insiders in Garrison's room, however, simple continued to talk. Books were slowly eased shut and people rose to their feet without a single trace of rush. Giggles were exchanged as heels clicked and book bags zipped. Bags were grabbed and fingers were pointed in the general direction of varying shops and stores and homes. This chatter pressed over the usual stillness to the dimly lit realm of seclusion. It all came to a sudden halt, though, when Garrison slammed her magazine shut with a clatter and bang.

Taking off her eyeglasses, she got to her feet without a pause. The students who faced her were the same bunch who had faced her back when she was a 'he' and first introduced to them in the beginning of third grade. There was no question that Garrison had aged in the proceeding years. Still, she retained whatever looks she had had previously. Her bosom curved her loose fitting blouse and her less than feminine hips did nothing for her shorts. Nevertheless, when she opened her mouth to say a few choice words to the new sophomores of South Park High, the students who openly mocked her shut up to listen.

" Would ya retards hurry up an' get the fuck outta here so I can go the hell home?" Garrison barked, narrowing her blood shot eyes at the lot of them. A ripple of snickers washed through the crowds. The insiders, though, sped up their exit by hurrying to zip up bags and walk towards the door.

While BeBe and Wendy both exclaimed happily to see all the boys later, the boys had no ringing endorsements for anyone. Jimmy and Timmy jokingly saluted everyone as they followed the girls out the door. Butters lingered near it, saying his goodbyes, as Craig and his crew steadily left the back of the room. Token still appeared crestfallen, but the others relieved that this year was over. They started to walk out the door as Kyle shuffled the cards one last time to pack them up all neat and tidy.

" Golly, have a good summer, guys," Butters told the four boys heading out. Token only halfheartedly nodded as he distractedly left the room. He didn't wait for the others as Clyde gave the blond boy a strange, but smiling, look. When he spoke, his tone reflected his look impeccably.

" It's not like we won't see you, dude,"

" Shucks, I know. But still. . ." he mumbled, allowing his words to trail off as he turned his eyes to the side. Clyde snickered under his breath, patting Butters on the shoulder on his way out the door. Tweek just twitched and uttered the uncontrollable sound of caffeine addiction at it's worst.

" GAH!"

Out the shivering lemon blond went, rubbing his fingers over his arms as he stared vacantly at Clyde's mildly smiling face. Craig shuffled after him, flipping Butters the bird as he walked into the crowd of his closest friends. The innocent insider just smiled and giggled, which garnered the attention of the Nazi. Cartman's eyes narrowed slightly, although there was no touch of rage or spite within their yummy orbs.

" Butters. Get over here, you fag," he commanded, pointing to the ground next to where he was standing. Butters jumped at the sound of his voice, then was overcome by a look of confusion and nervousness. He turned back to the three still standing in the doorway, muttering about places to be.

" Aw, hamburgers. . . .Well, bye anyways," Butters told the three insiders with another wave. Craig ignored him as he slipped through Tweek and Clyde to leave. Tweek shook and twitched to the side as he too left without another word. Clyde, however, gave half a wave without any real heart to it.

" Yeah. See ya,"

With that, Craig and his crew of insiders left Garrison's room. Butters watched them leave before scooting over to where the freaky four were grabbing up what little stuff they had with them. The innocent knocked his fists together in that old childhood habit of his. Cautiously, he smiled at them through the long bangs that hung into his baby face. The glow to his gemstone blue eyes had yet to be extinguished and in that moment, it seemed inviting. For that reason alone, they all seemed drawn into smiling back at him. There was just no denying the shadowless pull of such beaming orbs in the face of someone whose entire body language was broken, shattered, and pieced together. The fragility of Butters was toxic, even if it was easily overlooked by the shockingly haunted look of lost purity in his eyes. They couldn't ignore it anymore than the next person. And so, they smiled at him, even if it was just a brief or halting smile.

" Hiya, fellas," Butters greeted them with a small wave, despite the fact that they'd been together for over an hour. Stan's deadpan look returned as it always did while he swung his book bag onto one shoulder.

" Hey,"

" Hi, Butters," Kyle warmly said, resting his bag on the desk top so he could zip it up. Kenny smacked Butters roughly on the back and flashed the innocent a grin reflective of wicked intent. His voice, though, was much more mild when he casually spoke to the wide eyed, weakly smiling boy.

" What's up?"

" Nothin'," he squeaked out without sounding whiny. As his voice was naturally soft, whenever Butters spoke, he brought the level of conversation down to a calmer level. A much calmer level than was usually heard amongst the freaky four, anyways. It wasn't something he appeared to be aware of, however. Instead, he just smiled at them as if that smile was forever plastered on his face. Kenny grinned right back at him in the same way as before.

" Why're you still here?" the activist questioned as he slipped away from his side of the desk. He hesitated next to the innocent. Licking his lips and blinking, he sidestepped the bubbly blond to stand next to the other of similar hair color. His arm brushed the edge of the poor boy's ratty jacket and created a softer smile to form on those catty lips.

" Golly, I'm waitin' for Eric," Butters stated with a bobbing nod of his head. The ponytail that hit him at mid waist bounced when he did. Snatching it up quickly, Kenny gave the end a twirl as he tilted his head. The pouring effect of cold indifference that pooled into those sapphires was enough to shake the foundation of the shy smile gracing the utterly feminine appeal to Butters' face. In fact, the ice in those hollow eyes drew curious looks from the other three of the notorious foursome who turned in the direction of the blond interaction.

" Gotta wait fer yer man?" Kenny teased in an airy voice quite in contradiction to the touch of deplorable depravity in his emotional and physical language. Either way, the lightness to his tone was lost in the suddenly saucer large, and completely fearfully confused, orbs of the innocent.

" What?" Butters didn't demand it, even as his body went stiff with considerable agitation. The hard expressions of his movements never made it to his eyes. He needn't worry. As he was opening his mouth again, Cartman pushed him to the side with one forceful shove of one arm. Lightweight that he was, Butters stumbled to the side.

" Shut up, Kinny," the Nazi barked, the anger in his face running thickly over his words. Those sapphires froze faster than before, hardened to the bigger boy's advances. A finger was pushed deep into the pornographic tee to Kenny's skinny body as Cartman leaned down to eye level to snap his last warning to that indifferent ruffian, " You're the fag here, not me,"

" I beg to differ," Kyle smoothly interjected, coldly peering across the desks to where Cartman was standing. The two looked at him in unison before Kenny broke down in frantic giggles.

" You would," the pervert cooed through his fingers in his vain attempt to stifle the chuckles rocking his tiny frame from side to side. Stan slipped up closer to him and gazed down at him as if he wanted to say something. Before he could, however, Cartman snapped his fingers and pointed innocently at the Jew's unimpressed expression of sheer ice.

" Oh, right. Sorry, Kahl. I forgot all about you an' Stan," he teased good naturedly, despite the wholly wicked smile the formed on his lips. The poor boy shrilly giggled with a choking sound accompanying the noise. The activist just gave the Nazi a rather lengthy look of disapproval that was wrought in subtlety. The Jew, though, felt a shock of jolting fire which rushed from his suddenly white mind to his shivering hands.

" That's _not _what I meant and you _know _it," Kyle whispered in a horrendously loud tone. His words quivered as his flesh was set ablaze with an inferno threatening to overthrow his voice in an uncontrollable shriek. As he was opening his mouth for said reveal, he was passively dismissed.

" Whatevah," Cartman waved his hand in a fluid motion of 'talk to the hand' without even visually addressing his rival. The awe at such an abrupt halt to their dance was enough to render Kyle utterly speechless.

" Shucks, I'm not gay," Butters chimed in, catching on at last to Kenny's insinuation. To add effect to his assertion, the innocent waved his hands before he idly knocked his knuckles together in nervousness. He was given a desperately irked look from the Nazi as those sugary eyes rolled in a delicate arch.

" Shut up, Butters. Everyone knows you are,"

" But I'm not," he protested, his eyes widening at the very thought. There was a touch of longing within those spiraling orbs, but, still that touch was lost on his voice. The grip to his hands failed to reach either. Seeing all of the touches, though, Cartman just absentmindedly smiled, his eyes moving over those pleading orbs and the frustrated clutch of fingers. He waved him off with both hands as if shooing an animal behaving badly.

" Whatevah,"

" What're you two doin' tonight?" Stan asked plainly, glancing between the innocent and the Nazi. Cartman arched an eyebrow at him, the smile vanishing from his mouth. Butters seemed too distracted to answer. Again, that was perfectly fine with his heavier friend.

" Not havin' sex, if that's what you're tryin' to imply, Marsh," Cartman answered with a generous amount of dark undertones to his rolling voice. The activist cast him a hard look before Kenny snickered. His blue eyes were all aglow once more, lit up like fireworks on the Fourth at midnight. The electric appeal sent a spark throughout the group.

" Yeah, well, you guys are gonna be _alone _in a _house _all _night together,_" he cooed through his dirt covered fingers which failed to hide his jeering grin, " Jus' sayin',"

" An' we all know who's window you'll be starin' through all night, you faggot," the Nazi replied, pushing a finger into the side of the poor boy's head. Kenny giggled with delight, bouncing a bit on his heels. In a less excited manner, Stan rolled his eyes and frowned a brief, almost secondary, frown that hadn't even crossed his full face before it was replaced by apathy.

" Who's? _Yours? _I doubt it," Stan muttered with noted agitation. Cartman shook his head and pressed his finger into the activist's shoulder as the brunette swung his book bag from one shoulder to the next. The grip he held the strap with was hard enough to blanch his knuckles.

" I meant yours," he responded casually. What may have been light shock formed in the aquamarine eyes in that cold slate of an expression. While it flashed like lightning, Kenny smiled widely, his hands lowering in steady intervals.

" Why the hell would I be lookin' at Stan when I could be watchin' you fuck Butters?" the blond asked as his hands fell to his waist as his hips swiveled to face his Nazi friend. Cartman appeared right ready with a snap of his own, but his loud voice was drowned out by a much hotter voice that spun into the air.

" I dunno Kenny," Kyle breathed out in a perilously burning tone. It dripped off his tongue in a rush that swirled his thoughts in a blinding white haze. As he turned his head to look at those watching honey eyes, a smile of perverse nature ripped across his formally frozen face. The fiery emeralds within those bloodied locks were livid, but they were presented only to his one rival with a less than coy invitation, " I think Cartman's on bottom,"

" _Fuck you, Jew,_" Cartman screamed, slamming his hands down onto the desk top hard enough to rattle it. The sugar melted down in the embers to reveal poison. The darkness pooling within fell into the air as he hissed out his acceptance to the hand poised towards him on the hellish ballroom floor, " I ain't gay an' I ain't _no one's _bitch. Got that?"

The inferno was white hot as it exploded in curling arches to the crescendo of the trembling music of ghostly screeching. The ethereal waltz was a twisting agony of back and forth repression, suppression, oppression. Released, it poured down Kyle's flesh and took control in ways he could not comprehend as his hands pulled back. His smashed them forth onto the desk. His body followed the jerking motion until he was leaning forward into poisonous trap. His lips rested just beyond an inch from his rival's. Every word he said, every word possessed from his mouth, eased over those tainted, waiting lips pulling into a treasonous smile.

" Not even mine?"

" Oh, no, Kahl," the Nazi whispered softly, his eyes lowering to those burning emeralds. The heat of his words danced over Kyle's lips like a haunted memory, sending a painfully cold shudder down the Jew's spine," You're _my _bitch an' everyone knows it,"

" You could never handle me,"

The rise of the tempo stilled in a breathtaking halt of crackling fire. Ice cold flames rushed through Kyle's blood, engulfing it in a drowning motion of falling into the dark waters of a moonless night in a distant past. Lost, he could only stare through the darkness parading his conscious as Eric eased towards him. Their lips remained apart, but only by the breath they drew in slow, hard motions. The cold fingers of death crept over Kyle's shoulders as he turned his head to avoid the pulsing departure from this realm which threatened his existence. Drawn to the embers, the liquid heat, his head moved again to face that man as those topaz eyes dropped into another color entirely. The horror of scorching heat roared within those deep pools of darkness.

" Try me,"

The way those words melded over Kyle's lips terrified him.

" I'd love to," the Jew drew back with considerable effort. Beyond his scoop of control, his hand raised as though tracing up an invisible wall separating him from the lightless world lost in those eyes. Biting his lower lips before his mouth moved into a smile, he reached through the glass and rested the very tip of his finger on the full cheek of his rival's face. He traced that finger over Cartman's cheek with longing, hesitating the draw back. Blinking, however, he jerked back like he was hurt and ran his shaking hands through his messy hair. Shivering, he snatched up his bag, " But we're going to be late if we do. So maybe some other time, Eric,"

There was a trickle of fury in those harsh eyes as Cartman gave Kyle a penetrating stare. Grinning nevertheless, he turned away and pushed his hair back with one hand. The fire lingered between them, just outside their reach, although it went unnoticed by the others in the room. Their interaction, however, did not fail to be seen. Stan looked from one to the other as he turned towards the smiling and highly amused Kenny.

" What the fuck was that?" he questioned while thumbing over at them. The two enemies carefully peered at the other with vague smiles hovering on their lips. Kenny regarded them with a similar look that was quickly replaced by a sly Cheshire smile and a shrug of one shoulder.

" Jus' some harmless flirtation," the poor boy offered, smoothing his fingers over his hips like he wanted to wipe the dirt from them. There was a soft snicker that gathered all their attention.

" Oh, it's never harmless when it's me and Cartman," Kyle interrupted, coupling his low voice with a fiery smile reflecting the remaining embers inside. His look was granted a warm, sugar look from the Nazi, although his words weren't addressed verbally.

" Uh. . . yeah, sure, whatever. I'm not getting involved," Stan stated firmly while he finally settled on a shoulder for his bag. Moving his hand, he pressed his fingers into Kenny's lower back. As such, he nudged him forward slightly in the direction of the door. A soft smile drowned out the sly intention of the poor boy's previous grin as he stepped towards the exit.

At that notion, the freaky four slipped out of Garrison's dimly lit haven and into the white washout of their usual routine. Stan rested his hand absentmindedly on the low back of Kenny without even acknowledging what it was he was doing. Kenny drew a step closer to the activist as he rubbed his thumbs idly over the hem of his ratty jacket. Kyle stood close to Cartman, matching his every step with his own. In unison, they walked beside the other two into the nearly empty hallway. Butters trailed half a foot behind them, although they still took him to be right beside them. The group moved through the halls as Stan cast a look at his best friend.

" What are you doing tonight?"

" You," Cartman interjected jokingly, pointing at the activist's face. He was given a mildly disgusted look while Kenny scrunched up his nose with a light pucker to his plump lips.

" Fuck you. He is not," Stan snapped while Kyle looked up at the heavier boy without any vile notions. Pouting teasingly, he jabbed a finger into Cartman's shoulder as he suppressed a smile curling in his words.

" Stan? I thought I was doing you tonight. I guess I'm gonna have to rearrange my schedule," he cooed, waving his hands as though he was rearranging his schedule in the air before him. The Nazi shook his head heartily while he reached forward. He twirled one of the shockingly red locks between his fingers. His sweet gaze dropped from the curl to those pressing green orbs.

" You're not doin' me. I'm doin' you. You ain't gotta rearrange anythin'. You jus' gotta brace that tight Jewish ass," he cautioned softly to the rouge overtaking the pale blanch to Kyle's cheeks. Just as the embers were beginning to burn again, Kenny leaned over slightly. He adjusted his hood so his bejeweled eyes could be seen leering into their private tangle of heated stares. Both eyed him.

" I got some lube you can borrow. I think it's in my locker," the poor boy happily said with a poignant smile of distrust. Kyle jerked back in recoil, closing the gap between Cartman and him almost entirely. The disgusted horror to his whole being entirely washed out every other emotion wholly and completely.

" You keep _lube _in your _locker? _At _school? _"

" Where else the fuck I gonna keep it?" Kenny snapped without seeming to notice the expression the Jew was shooting him. Rather, he appeared annoyed at having to explain himself, for he rolled his eyes and flipped his hood back. His striking blond hair was revealed as it cascaded to his shoulders, " If I keep it at my motherfuckin' house, my fuckin' parent's'll use it!"

" Your parents use _your _lube?" Kyle implored, tilting his slender body a fraction closer as if that would help him understand better. Kenny shrugged and waved his hand to the side with an air of harshness.

" It ain't like they got money to buy they own," he reminded them coldly. Kyle glanced away, looking like he wanted to express the nod he did without thinking. He didn't get a chance to say it, though. That moment, Stan turned his eyes down to the sapphires peering back at him. The activist bunched up his nose in a muted version of confusion as he asked his question in need of clarification.

" Why do you even _have _lube?"

" 'Cause it's lube. I need it," Kenny dryly answered. He offered no further explanation, but, then, he didn't need to. Cartman cut in, as was his way, with a snarky snap and a tremendously professional eye roll.

" You use it when you masturbate, Stan. Duh,"

" Screw you," the activist sneered with a temporary glare and the flipping of their favorite hand gesture. Besides them, Butters blinked and rubbed his knuckles together. Biting his lower lip, he turned to regard the other blond with a barely there stare of needy bewilderment.

" Golly, you masturbate at school?" the innocent asked, his eyes wide with what may have been terrified respect. Kenny scoffed at his apparently transparent question by jerking his hood back up to cover his disarming hair.

" Well I sure as fuck don't go to the bathroom to go to the fuckin' bathroom!" the poor boy hissed dramatically, his voice reaching normal levels and sounding louder for it. The sound bounced off the empty halls and blue lockers they passed. Butters, however, continued to press his fragile, broken glass eyes to that dirty face. His answer was not given by the blond he stared at, though.

" Why you think he looks so fuckin' happy when he comes back?" Cartman snapped, his less than pleased attitude shining through his mask of poised indifference for the innocent. His tone went unnoticed by the immune crowds with him. Years of having been exposed to such a fickle temperament mean that not even Kyle remotely acknowledged the frustration of losing patience with something that commonly graced the Nazi's speech. Now was no exception to the rule, for Butters just blinked at the idea.

" Oh. . ." his light voice trailed off as his eyes searched for the meaning. The realization made his eyes widen in shocked awe as he looked away from Kenny with a jerk of his head, " OH! Oh, hamburgers. . ."

" That's nasty," Stan mumbled practically under his breath. His hand slipped away from Kenny's back while he cast him in a mildly, highly muted look of disgust. The blond caught the look and his smile was gone in a hurry. In it's stead was a frown that was covered by the hood when he turned his eyes down towards his tattered shoes. The activist didn't noticed as he scrunched up his nose in distaste, " Do you even know when the last time those bathrooms were _cleaned?_"

" I can tell you," Kyle absentmindedly informed them, despite the fact he didn't know why he was saying so. Cartman tugged the curl loose and rolled his eyes when his hand was smacked back at last.

" Of course you can," he teased emptily. For his empty voice, there was a burst of bloodied fire within the Jew. He addressed the tone with a curt response of his own.

" And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

" You're Kahl. You know everything about nothin'," the Nazi coldly told him, pushing his fingers through his messy hair. There was a low mark of bite to his words that brought the flare inside to a heightened level. Yet, that full face remained stony and unforgiving.

" I certainly know a lot about you," the Jew retorted haughtily while his emeralds moved up and down the curvy frame of his rival with a small smile. That smile was followed sharply by a smirk that was waved away with a flirty little motion of Cartman's wrist. A trace of ember rolled down Kyle's spine.

" An' I know a lot about you. Your point?" he inquired with catty expressions throughout his tone. The sugar was fading in his tasty eyes, but the hardness of Kyle's emeralds remained. Their conversation, as rocky as it was hot, was interrupted vilely by the cautiously low voice of Kenny. He spoke to the floor as he shuffled beside Stan.

" It's not like I go in there every time I go to the bathroom," he mumbled out, muffling his voice by speaking into his shoulder and the hood of his jacket. He didn't need to clarify what he meant, for his point was well known. Nevertheless, Stan gave him a penetrating stare with surprising upstart to his previously unconcerned timbre.

" Then where the hell do you jack off?" the brunette demanded, his hand gripping at the strap of his bag roughly. He looked like he wanted to sling it to the floor, for whatever reason. To that, Kenny twitched as if he expected something and breathed out his answer. He did not address Stan, however. Instead, he addressed his shoes.

" School locker showers,"

" Oh my Gawd! We takes _showers _in there, Kenny!" Kyle exclaimed, falling back and away from him with a jerk. He was in the process of shouting something else, probably something much worse, when Cartman rolled his eyes expertly and cut in without asking. He grinned a flashing smile of unspoken meanings.

" That's the general idea behind a _shower, _Kahl,"

" You think you're funny, but you're really not," the Jew blandly stated, pointing up at Cartman's smiling face. His mouth moved into a frown while the Nazi shrugged in a cast away manner. Doing so made a half smile flicker over his smaller enemy's mouth.

" Whatevah. I can't believe you didn't know. Can't you hear the moaning?" he wasn't asking, even when he asked it in said form. He had barely uttered the sediment when Kyle recoiled so thoroughly from Kenny's side that he actually walked backwards into Cartman's heavy belly.

" OH, Jesus! You do it _while _we're in the shower?" Kyle shrieked in repulsion, pushing his back into the curve of the Nazi's stomach. He walked as close to Cartman as he could, as though being so close to him would deflect the vile innuendo trickling off the dirty boy. He was not cast off. Rather, a smile crossed Cartman's face as the tiny red headed Jew cowered into his girth.

" Ew," Butters mumbled under his breath, knocking his knuckles together. His soft spoken disapproval went unnoticed as Kenny licked his lips lightly.

" Yeah," he answered Kyle's question with supreme coldness to his voice. The Jew made a face at the response that reflected his earlier reaction, turning his head away. Cartman casually ran a finger over his shoulders, drawing his closer. Kyle moved to the suggestion without a second thought.

" Jesus Christ, Kenny," Stan expressed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a light shake of his head. His face never showed any of the emotions falling over his body language. Yet, when he reached out and lightly rested a hand on Kenny's arm, the turn of his blank face was at that poor boy. Biting his lower lip, the blond stepped closer, into the offered embrace. Neither said a word as they calmly looked in opposing directions.

The doors to their salvation approached in the tense silence. Butters reached out and pushed them open in their creaking, solemn give. Out into the bright and light world they stepped. The steps were cracked cement, but they dropped dramatically into the plush, green grass of the summertime air. They left behind the fading memory of their freshman year in favor of the future of the lazy days of summer. Doing so, they turned off the sidewalk wrapping its broken self about the length of the schoolyard. Instead, the five of them headed in the direction of the main street of South Park suburbia. The bus had already left on its rumbling track, leaving them to their own devices. They walked along until they reached the main road. Here, the group paused in still silence before the activist turned to regard the poor boy within his hesitating grasp.

" You goin' home?" he probed, glancing briefly towards the line of walkway that stretched to the wrong side of the tracks where the dirty blond resigned after hours. Kenny nodded, drawing his hands up to touch his lips before letting them drop back to his sides.

" Yeah. I gotta fuckin' babysit my fuckin' baby sibs. My parents fuckin' goin' out," Kenny explained with considerable bitterness to his every biting, snappish word. A touch of darkness overshadowed his sapphires when he spoke, trickling into his fair features.

" You want me to come over?" Stan asked, tilting his head in the same direction he had just glanced. The bitterness faded into a soft, yet completely emotionless expression devoid of recognizable thought. The look became a smirk when Cartman teasingly interjected, grinning at the activist.

" Shouldn't you take him out to dinner first, Stan?"

" I don't need fuckin' dinner," the poor boy answered, playing into the game. He pushed his hands together as though in prayer while his tone dropped heavier and heavier into mocking, " But it's sweet that you care, Eric,"

" Don't wanna go to _another _funeral for ya, Ken. Especially not 'cause you died havin' sex with Stan," the Nazi informed him, ignoring the mock in his voice by supplying his own. The smile on Kenny's face never faltered nor did the one on Cartman's. They went back and forth as if this was honestly their main form of communication, " That'd jus' be pathetic,"

" Aw, I'd die fuckin' happy," Kenny cooed, looking up at the much taller boy and smiling a full, wide grin. Cartman's eyes rolled away and up as he flipped the blond the bird.

" Duh. You wouldn't be a fuckin' virgin,"

" Screw you, Cartman," Stan snapped, his eyes gaining a fresh look of agitation. A wave of fury flooded into those light gems in warning. Swallowing the threatening tidal wave, he turned gentle eyes to Kenny, " You want me to come over or not?"

The activist waited out the blond's apparent silence by moving his hand down the arm of the weathered jacket. His fingers brushed the dirty ones at Kenny's waist without force. Regardless, Kenny slipped his fingers in and held onto Stan's hand as soon as the group approached the cross walk towards their neighborhood. They held hands lightly and absentmindedly as they briskly made their way across the street. Lagging behind, the other three walked over the white strips. As they did, Kyle rested his hand on the middle of Butters' back with a featherlike touch. The second they walked off the white stripes, though, he withdrew his hand. Once he did, Cartman reached past the Jew and snatched up Butters' upper arm. He pulled the lightweight innocent into him, side stepping the blankly staring Kyle.

" Let's go, Butters," he ordered in a militant manner. Kyle turned his head away, thus hiding the dead look that briefly transcended his eyes. When he looked back, Cartman wasn't looking, but he cast that heavyweight a darkly iced stare. It went unnoticed for Stan again placed his gaze on the still face of the poor boy.

" Ken?" he repeated, without fully questioning him. There was a second where that feminine face was unreadable. There was not a hint of intention behind his eyes nor a flicker of expression on his lips. Then, without warning, he smiled a truly controlled smile that was as frozen as the stare Kyle was shooting Cartman.

" Nah, it's okay,"

" Okay. If you're sure," Stan allowed his voice to faltered at the end. Gingerly, he slipped his fingers from Kenny's, giving him a weak smile that never reached his eyes. Two sapphires dropped to the separation before jumping back up to the empty expression of the activist. Presenting that cold smile, the poor boy thumbed with both hands in the opposite direction.

" See you fuckers later. I gotta go to the elementary school to pick up my sibs," he told them with half a wave. Stan nodded stiffly, muttering a good bye, while Butters waved happily. Cartman dismissed his farewell with an eye roll and his usual expression of matching notion. Kyle bid him good bye, his fierce expression melting in turn to the fiery orange of their hooded companion.

With that, Kenny turned on his heel and headed down the street in the opposing way. He stuck his hands into his pockets and turned his head to the ground to watch his light, catty steps. Stan watched him go, as though he expected him to twist around and jog back over. His light eyes hovered over his retreating back much longer than they should have. He continued staring even longer, and longer still. In fact, he didn't dare remove his blank stare from that boy until he saw Kenny turning the corner towards the elementary school. Only then did he blink and return his attention to his other friends. He found himself facing a distracted Kyle and no one else. Cartman and Butters were gone.

" Where'd Cartman go?"

" Didn't you see? They walked off," Kyle told him, thumbing towards Butters' house in the distance. He grinned at his best friend, to which Stan offered a meek smile and a shake of the head, " Well, they left. Cartman said they had 'things' to do and they couldn't wait around for us,"

" Oh. Okay," the activist mildly responded as the two began to head down the street towards their houses. They remained in a steady silence that was anything but awkward. Any tension that may had once existed between the two, for whatever reason, had long since disappeared over the course of their eleven year long friendship.

Much of their worlds had changed in those subtle, yet powerful ways. The conflict of childhood had melted into the hysteria of the preteen scene. South Park had always had a knack for breeding the bizarre and strange and their last five years had not gone unaffected. The insiders, those whom had shared with them the experiences of rescuing whales in fourth grade and a tarnished birthday party at the end of fifth, had grown up as weird and wired as before. There had been bouts of screaming as a certain caffeine addict ran from the school when hysteria took hold of his judgment. There had been a fist fight that hospitalized an outsider when rival gang colors were flashed at the Crips members Timmy and Jimmy. There had been flashing bra straps and bad make up choices as the two femme fatales found their place. There had been cold words written in marker on the bathroom stalls, locker slamming statements, and bold appeals to the good nature of mankind in the face of social suicide.

Yet, the most promising moments were sheathed in silent reverie. In flickering light bulbs memories of broken promises, shattered dreams, and ruined evenings. The basement of Eric Cartman's home had seen thousands of hardships as their ages had transformed from ten to fifteen. The shrieking, the crying, the madness, remained locked behind the red painted door. Those days, those nights, stained by the burn of liquor, the haze of smoke, the blaze of furious attempts to grow without withering, had made the insiders what they were. All pretense and all conviction had perished with the grand reveals of personalities bred in a small town, isolated from the norm, the sane, the healthy.

Out of those shadows, Stan and Kyle had slipped into their freshman year, together. They had survived the test of times, though not without their own scars. Said scars, however, lingered in the depths of the unspoken truths. Closer to the surface, there were the smiles forming on their lips as they faced their first summer since starting high school hell. Kyle yawned as he folded his arms behind his curls. Stan just sighed sadly when their footsteps brought them to the doorstep to the Jew's home.

Waving goodbye, Stan left Kyle to unlocking his door and calling out he was home to an empty house. Alone, the activist walked the few doors down to his own house. In the proceeding years, it had aged badly into a nearly paintless house reflective of the lax suburbia in which it stood. Looking past it for a second, he spied the train tracks, and just beyond them, the rotten shack that was the McCormick place. A splash of ice spilled over his blood in a flood that rushed his mind into a blank flurry. He wanted to grit his teeth and throw his bag into the cement steps beneath his curling toes. Instead, he flattened his expressions with a low exhale of shivering, icy breath. The water blending his blood into a cold hurricane withdrew in a hurry. Replacing it was that still expression of apathy which quite literally left Stan feeling nothing other than muted agitation. Sighing at his own emotions, he unlocked the rusted lock to his front door. He pushed it open and slipped inside the living room of his new prison.

The moment the door shut, his father threw streamers and confetti on him in a bout of frantic screaming. Stan stared in dire shock, his face livid with it. Some of that was due to the sheer blinding colors of the confetti. Part of it, though, was directed at the fact that his father really ought to have been at work.

Nevertheless, Randy grabbed his son up into a tight embrace that Stan made quick work of wriggling out of.

" CONGRATS ON FINISHIN' FRESHMAN YEAR, STAN!" his father shouted in his ear, causing him to flinch violently. He attempted to sidestep Randy, but he was no match to the older man's obsessive nature.

" RANDY! NOT IN THE HOUSE!" Sharon's voice echoed throughout the entire house, although both Marsh men knew it to be coming from the kitchen. Randy cast that general direction an irked look, but he didn't remark. In fact, otherwise, he didn't acknowledge his wife's warning. Stan, though, tried to walk around his father. He was stopped with a halting hand motion.

" Uh.. . .hey, Dad," he mumbled, in meek hope that the greeting would seal his release. Unfortunately, he was not presented with the response he wanted. Randy just smiled that wide, expectant smile of his that had led to several problems within the family. A flash of ice jilted the blood of the activist.

" When's the first party?" Randy asked in a voice that still didn't quite qualify as an indoor one. Stan cast him a look which was ignored, forcing him to verbalize his question. For all intents and purposes, he could feel his blood icing and feeling like that made him want to pull back his hand and smash it into whatever was nearest. Knowing the course of doing do, however, he forced his face blank and quenched his attitude into one biting word.

" What?"

" You goin' tonight, huh, big boy? Is it at the Blacks? The Tuckers? The Cartmans? Come on, Stan! You can tell me! I've got some 'protection'," he jokingly nudged his son in the rib cage as he grinned knowingly. Stan squeezed his eyes shut in a vain effort to block out the rising waters of embarrassment at having to have this conversation, " Just in case you meet a 'special' lady,"

" No, Dad,"

" You already got some? Good boy, good boy," Randy commended him with a hearty pat on the shoulder and a toothy showing of his teeth. His son licked his lips as the bubbling waters began to heat in a deeply seeded manner of agitation, " So, where is it? Do I need to drive you?"

" No, there's no party," the activist replied blandly, finally managing to free himself of the grasp he longed to escape. Randy drew back in bewilderment while Stan trooped over to the stairs that would take him to freedom.

" What? Why? It's the last day of school!" the older man protested, storming after him in what could be called outrage. For Randy, however, it wasn't outrageous until it involved booze and himself. Thus, he maintained somewhat of a level head as Stan shrugged without true concern to the callousness of the action.

" I know," he plainly addressed the situation as he began up the stairs. He tried to take them two at a time, but none of his efforts could shake his father. Randy kept at his heels, stalking him from the living room up to the hallway of the second floor that held the bedrooms. As they went, the geologist furthered his question in repetition.

" No party?"

" No party," Stan firmly stated, casting a tired look at his persistent father. Randy looked at him as if he were tempted to believe him. Before he conceded, though, he pointed at Stan and narrowed his eyes in mild suspicion. Fresh frustration nearly overwhelmed the activist in his near desperate need to get away from this tap dance.

" Are you just saying that so I don't crash?" Randy demanded, tilting his head and giving him that look. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as he placed a hand on the knob to his door. His fingers smoothed over the metal before he gripped it hard enough for the bite to cut into his palm.

" No. There really is no party," he said with as much finality as he could muster in his realm of apathetic attitude. His tone went completely unnoticed by his father. Randy just slumped his shoulders and looked away with a somber expression to his face.

" Oh," he mumbled while his son opened the door to his bedroom. Inhaling a deeply cold breath, Stan glanced back at his father. Randy gave him a wholly defeated, yet slightly hopeful look, " When is the first party then? Tomorrow?"

" I don't know, Dad,"

" Oh,"

" Yeah," Stan sneered with much more bite than before. He hoped his tone would encourage his father to drop to topic and leave him be. His mind was churning as the floodgates threatened to pour into his trembling body. His knuckles were whitening and his body temperature was plunging. A chill was easing over his flesh, done to the bone, and he felt the ice hardening the aqua within his orbs. He allowed it access to his orbs as he pressed a shoulder into his door.

" You sure?" Randy probed, refusing to take the hint. A frost overcame Stan's skin in a electric rush that made him frown in a brief moment. Turning away, he rolled his eyes in a truly bored way. As per usual, his father was immune to his style of charm. Thus, Stan took it upon himself to end this conversation.

" Uh-huh,"

With that, Stan swung the door shut and let it clatter in the doorframe. Rolling his eyes yet again, he threw his bag down on top of a pile of clothes scattered throughout his room. He ignored the computer screen glowing on the desk jumbled with gaming guides and piles of homework crumpled up. He didn't look at the stacks of games and stations littering his floor by the small television he had begged his parents to put in his room. Rather, he kicked off his tattered sneakers and grabbed a comic book from a pile on the floor. He dropped down onto the black and blue sheets of his unmade bed.

Around him, he was bathed in the darkness of his dimly lit world. The curtains were thick and heavy enough to block out any shred of light. The walls were painted in a deep, midnight blue color and lined with posters of animal rights slogans. The majority of the room, however, was his empty haven. There was nothing to remind him of the cruelty he was faced with every moment outside those four walls. In truth, the only thing that connected his world to that one was the picture on the end table.

In it's black frame was a picture showcasing his three closest friends and himself. They were dressed in regular outfits. Thus, he was in jeans, Kyle was in jeans, Kenny was in biker shorts, and Cartman was in an outlandishly wild outfit. It was from the summer before freshman year and they were down at Stark's Pond. All were smiling in their own ways, looking up at the camera held in the Nazi's hand, as he was taller than all of them. Although he knew the exact date and time of the photo, no one else knew that it was taken on a Sunday at three thirty seven. On a Sunday after the four of them had disappeared for eight days down by that lake. After they had just wandered off after being asked to go pick up soda by Sharon Marsh. Nor that he knew the exact time the picture had been taken despite not remembering a single thing about the entire day.

Of course, most of Stan's memories concerning Stark's Pond were blacked out. They had been since he was ten years old.

Gazing at that mysterious picture he couldn't even recall putting in that square frame, Stan vaguely wondered about Kenny. He saw the poor boy grinning up at him from the shadows of his orange hood and he wondered about him. He laid across his pillows, turning away from photo. Feeling the lightest touch of cold to the back of his neck, he hoped that Kenny made it home okay. He hoped he did, without an escort, as he felt darkness swimming up from the waters within. He fell into the moonlight night, into those waters, as slumber overtook him without warning.

The touch of soft fingers on his cheeks as shining eyes swam in the light of the dawning day poured over Stan's mind. In an instant, they were gone and his world was a shockingly dark blue tunnel. He blinked, staring with considerable effort, at the ceiling of his bedroom. At first, he was frantically confused as to where he was and who he was and who was with him. A moment later, he heard a buzzing sound drowned out quickly by the sound of music playing. Rubbing one eye, Stan reached over and fumbled around on his end table for his phone. Recalling coming home from school, however, he pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. He slumped back against his pillow as he did, groggy and disoriented.

" Yeah?" the activist groaned into the receiver, pressing a palm to his mildly warm forehead. He heard a loud sigh directly in his ear. That, of course, didn't help in waking him up, although it did contribute to a slight headache brewing behind his eyes.

" I have to get a job,"

Stan immediately recognized that bitter, though soft, voice on the other end of the line. He glanced at the caller ID out of habit anyways. He saw the words 'KayBee lol EC' and felt a rush of relief. However, he scrunched up his nose as he placed the phone back to his ear in confusion.

" What?"

" My parents say I have to get a summer job," Kyle repeated in a monotone voice that Stan knew was the one he used when ready to scream. Yawning, the activist shrugged his shoulders into the expression of tiredness. Then he shook his head.

" Why?" he asked with genuine concern. His body remained slack on the bed and he didn't change facial expression. Yet, his voice dipped into the reaches of true concern. Nothing could really rile him up quite like facing a full out Kyle Broflovski meltdown. Which was what he was facing if the Jew hadn't had a chance to vent his furious anger elsewhere.

" Because it's time for me to act like an adult," the redhead's voice was heated with resentment. Stan could taste it's fire on his own tongue as he swallowed those harsh words. A chill bolted down his back as his hands tensed up. As he was tired and barely awake, he wasn't sure he was ready to take on a fully loaded Kyle. Yet, he poised the question that perhaps would unleash the fury.

" By getting a job?" he stated as evenly as he could, despite the half frown pulling at his lips. There was no hiding his annoyance at his best friend's parents, though. That trickled into his voice and he wasn't sure he cared. Rather, he listened carefully to the other when he answered. He was looking for signs so he would know when to move the phone from his ear.

" By earning money," Kyle snapped back, sounding as though he was speaking through clenched teeth. Stan blinked at the phone before sighing with honest empathy.

" That sucks, dude," the activist muttered as he forced himself to sit up. The comic book he had intended to read fell into his lap. Rolling his eyes, he tossed it onto the floor with the rest of his belongings. Over the phone, he heard a long whine of a sigh that really wasn't much of a whine at all.

" Dude, I know,"

" So, what're you gonna do?" he finally asked, folding his legs underneath himself. A frozen wash of wind smoothed down his back, through his flesh, and into his boiling blood. He didn't know where the suddenly spurt of frustration came from, but he felt it long before that fire exploded on the other line. When he heard it, though, he fed off it. His temperature dropped as a deathly calm flooded his senses in a rush of artic waters.

" I have to get a job. I already tried everything to get out of it. I even threw a hissy fit," Kyle growled over the phone, his tone rising and falling in furious burst of fury. Stan felt his rage and he swallowed it so that it could lower his temperature into the same fluster of his friend, " Do you know when the last time I threw a hissy fit was? I was seven!"

" No, you were ten," Stan reminded him, pointing at nothing. The frozen oblivion vanished in the sudden recollection of that summer day in the sunshine. He was left feeling not a thing, as frightening as that was, " It was at your birthday party. Remember?"

On the other side of the line, Kyle looked down at the phone he was holding out in front of him. He gave it a strangely quizzical stare before he placed it back to his ear. He wet his lips, questioning whether he should continue down a path speaking of said day five years beforehand. He choice to ignore his better judgment and nodded where he was seated on his green and black bedspread.

" What are you talking about? I didn't throw a hissy fit at my birthday party when I was ten," he retorted in a hesitant voice dancing with the embers burning up his blood and flesh. He felt a flush easing over his cheeks and into the glare he presented his floor with. In a way, he saw the nod he knew the activist must have given him in the muted pause that followed.

" Yeah, you did. You don't remember that?" Stan implored with his usual deadpan voice which spoke volumes to those used to it. The Jew looked away, from no one, and firmly shook his head, again, to no one. Somehow, he sensed that the activist could see his body language all the same.

" No, I _really _don't," Kyle stressed, gripping his sheets as he pressed his toes into the floorboards behind. A jolt of fire engulfed his mind when he heard the next words out of Stan's mouth. The memory was so faded, yet so vivid, in the worse possible manner of speaking. He wished he could just cover his ears and block everything out the way he always wished he could. He couldn't. He heard those words and he felt the familiar sinking sensation within his stomach for them.

" You got into a fight with your mom. You were hysterical,"

" That was _not _a hissy fit," the Jew replied with as much assertion as he could muster in the moment. He offered no other explanation for his actions. Honestly, he never had. However, this time, he was asked one of the few questions he truly loathed.

" Then what the hell was it?" Stan's voice never made it to agitation. It never quite did when this moment was concerned. There was plenty of fury within that stone cold attitude for the rest of the party, but never for this moment. It was addressed icily, although with care.

" I was defending one of my closest friends," Kyle snapped back in a similar manner as the question asked. The fires within were slowly churning out sparks. They jolted his heart into racing. The feeling was not pleasant. It was all the Jew could do not to hang up the phone in order to just avoid anything left to come. His desire, though, appeared to be well read. None of the needed or warranted inquires were spoken.

" If you say so,"

" I was hysterical because. . . ." his voice caught in his throat as he turned his emerald gaze anywhere but up. He found himself staring down at his left hand with more pressure than he had stared at anything before. His throat ran dry as he slowly bit his lower lip. Even then, even after all that time, he couldn't say it. He simply couldn't say it. He couldn't, he wouldn't, and he didn't. He just closed his eyes until Stan spoke into his ear like his conscience.

" Yeah, I know," Stan stated without a trace of judgment. There was an enormous amount of generous assurance to that voice. Kyle welcomed it wholeheartedly as he eased his eyes open and swallowed cautiously.

" It wasn't a hissy fit," he found himself saying, his mouth moving without him telling it to. In his need to clarify, he heard the words without even feeling them passing through his lips. He just heard them and he heard how hollow they sounded with all of his soul, " I don't know what it was but. . . it wasn't. . .it didn't feel the same,"

" Okay," came Stan's final comment to the matter. Kyle nodded to himself, forcing himself back to the present in order to leave behind that day. As always, it was the activist who suggested an alternative, " So, a summer job, huh?"

" Yeah,"

" Dude. Weak,"

" I know right?" Kyle muttered with a roll of the shoulder. He could feel a smile making its way to his lips as he opened his mouth to say something. Every thought and word he was in the process of forming, however, were knocked from his body with the screaming of a rather shrill, heart stopping voice. Infuriating as it was, he couldn't ignore it.

" BUBBIE! GET OFF THE PHONE! YOU HAVE TO GO JOB HUNTING WITH YOUR FATHER!" came his mother's shout from down below on the first floor of their house. It rumbled through the floorboards like a demonic warning from the underworld. Though that's where it sounded from, Kyle shot his door the dark glare that was directed at his mother. He wanted to scream he wasn't going, but knew better to from experience. Turning away, he pressed his ear harder to the phone. He could nearly taste the confusion on the other end.

" Dude, they're making you go out in the middle of the night lookin' for a job?" the activist exclaimed without the exclaim to his deadpan timbre. The Jew blinked in confusion himself, then moved his eyes to the green lights of his bedroom clock.

" What? Dude, it's seven in the morning," he laughingly informed him, snickering under his breath. He heard Stan scrambling to look at a clock that was probably buried beneath three layers of dirty clothes and magazines.

" What? Really?"

" Yeah. I mean, I know it's early, but damn," Kyle teased, pushing a hand through his barely damp curls. Feeling the wetness, he jumped and jerked his fingers out of the tangles. A whirl of fire touched his spine in the coldest way. He shivered and suppressed it with a bite of his lower lip.

" I didn't know I'd slept that long. . . " Stan's voice buzzed loudly in his ear, drawing his violently back into the moment. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled a chuckle at his best friend's silliness. He repressed the urge to scream and scream and scream and run from his room in a frenzy for the only safe haven he had discovered along the way. Instead, he just smiled harshly and thanked his luck that Stan wasn't actually in the room with him this time.

" When the hell did you go to bed?" he questioned mildly, doing everything to keep his tone even and unstressed. He heard Stan shuffle something and swear under his breath, then there was a sigh in recalling.

" When I got home from school yesterday," came the less than enthusiastic response. At that, the Jew jerked the phone from his ear again to give it a meaningful look that was lost on the buttons. Never mind that, for his words wholly expressed the same look with a biting undercut to their every point.

" You slept for seventeen hours?"

" I guess," the activist shortly stated with a start of defense. The Jew gave a halting laugh, rubbing his fingers over his forehead. His laugh defused the beginning agitation on the brunette's part. He could feel the ease without ever needing to see the look to those aquamarine orbs.

" Dude, take that as a sign," he jeered playfully, pointing at the phone out of habit. He heard an eye roll through the way Stan exhaled, " Stop playing video games til two,"

" NOW, BUBBIE!" Shelia's scream drowned out Stan's answer to the warning. Those emeralds hardened like diamonds as they pulled from the clock to the door in a demonically heated stare. He gritted his teeth, feeling the embers licking into his blood in an enragement ready for its grand finale. His skin came alive as his mind white washed itself in a blood lustful hunger for shrieking and grabbing something heavy, hard, metal, and letting that roaring beast know just what he thought of her commanding nature.

" Don't you have to go?" the fluid touch of that icy voice quenched the flames down to a burning desire which remained in his stomach. Kyle glanced around, as if to look at the activist, but he just smiled something close to the dead look he often saw in Stan's eyes. When he spoke, his voice was awfully even.

" No, it's not serious until she calls me by name,"

" KYLE! NOW! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME, YOUNG MAN!" his mother screeched as if by cue. Kyle couldn't help himself when he spat out his sediment. His tone dropped into that fiery voice shivering with the anger he had practically no control over.

" _Now _I have to go," he snarled in venom, his hands gripping tight and pressing into the side of his cell phone. He heard a sigh and some more shuffling. Stan bid him farewell with nonchalance and he returned the favor with a sharp snap directed anywhere but at his best friend, " Bye,"

Flipping his green phone shut, Kyle dragged himself off his bed. He jerked on some nice looking shoes to match the button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the pressed black slacks that had grown a bit tight at his hips and bottom. He hadn't had to dress this formally since he had graduated from middle school and his mother had insisted on throwing a party; seeing how he'd gotten straight As and that was just so wonderful to her. Thus, he didn't exactly fit into his only pair of truly formal pants. He hoped his mother didn't say anything, but knew she would if he let her. For that reason alone, he untucked his shirt and wore it in a Tweekquese style: out, messy, and completely covering his lower half.

Dressed accordingly, he left his forest green bedroom and headed for the stairs. He slipped down them, trying to make as little noise as possible. If he came banging down those steps, he would have gotten an earful about it. He went softly, coming to a stop at the end of them. Shelia was waiting for him, standing just beyond the staircase, her hands on her hips in disapproval. Kyle saw her and then his gaze was resting behind her. He stared at that couch, the fires grabbing hold of his shoulders and slamming into the back of his skull in an explosion of shrieking and sobbing.

His brother was laying there, hands folded on his slender stomach. His onyx eyes watched the television screen in an utterly blank manner. The pupils never moved from one object to the next, suggesting powerfully that whatever Ike saw, it was nothing on the screen. From this stance, however, he was drawn by the fiery pressure of those emeralds. His eyes slid from the television to the Jew and there they stayed. A flush overtook Kyle in the moment they embraced in a furious stare that penetrated down to burning and frozen cores of bejeweled essence. The ice in those onyxs then cut away as Ike turned his eyes back to the television. There was an inferno engulfing Kyle, but he saw the dismal, the turnabout, and he was left in a shivering stance of fury.

" You gotta problem there?" the redhead demanded, his tone rocked with the rising and falling of the fires within. He spoke in engulfed anger. When Ike answered, though, it was entirely out of pouring ice. There was not an emotion, not a pulse, to the death written in all the coldness of that solitary word. It rolled off his young tongue with the force, the pressure, the power of the most vile of curse words as if unfit for human hearing.

" _Nope,_"

" Kyle, leave your brother alone," Shelia broke in, gathering herself the attention she commanded. Kyle snapped his eyes back towards her, but couldn't erase the embers from his voice when he barked out his reply to her order.

" Yes, of _course, _Mother," he sneered out in a way that was more victorious than mean. He felt the relief washing into his chest even as Shelia gave him a look of true conviction. While she appeared to be fighting with herself, he just felt his shoulders relaxing and his hands unclenching at his sides.

" Don't think I don't hear that tone, Bubbie," his mother warned, wagging her finger at him. She didn't do it in his face like she used to, but the threat was still the same. Kyle merely blinked in her direction, unaffected in an apathetic sort of manner. Shelia didn't seem to notice for she went straight into leading him to the kitchen as if he hadn't just failed to react to her 'ominous' statement. Instead, she just tapped the dining room table where Gerald was sitting, reading the newspaper, " Have fun boys. Be good, Bubbie,"

" Ready to go, son?" Gerald asked gently, folding up the paper and giving him a cautious smile. Sheila beamed at her oldest boy, lightly patting him on the shoulder as if for encouragement. Wetting his lips as his stomach sank into the pits of Hellish flames, the Jew stiffly, coldly, harshly nodded. His curls didn't even move, his neck felt so stiff.

" Sure, dad. Whatever you say,"

Evenly, without a facial expression, Kyle turned from the room and swept out it. He felt his hands touching his arms, holding himself, as he hurried past the couch. From there, he heard the softest sound of death in the form of a light chuckle. It slipped into his sickened stomach as the door was jerked open and the Jew stumbled into the light. Rage, fury, agony, wiped out his mind. White and fire swallowed up his thoughts as he gritted his teeth and slammed his fists into the side of the family car. He ignored the reflection staring back at him with wide, horrified emeralds stained with burning fires. He wanted to run, he knew where to run, but he faced his fate like a man. He stood there as Gerald walked down the driveway.

His father smiled at him and asked if he was ready to go. Gerald didn't go to the driver's side. He stepped up to the Jew and he placed a hand on his back. Kyle felt it. Felt the fire in his blood like a disease, eating through his flesh until he was nothing but the flames. The emeralds within hardened him to it, to all of it, as those fingers pulled down his back and that gentle voice questioned him. He was asked again if he was ready. Ready. He could only nod as he saw his father smiling down at him with those kind, forgiving eyes.

Kyle wanted to slit his throat and laugh in the blood splatter.

The day was fading into night as Stan rolled over on his bed sheets. He looked over at his phone, willing it to ring, even just once. Boredom had consumed his first day of summer, leaving him sprawled out on his bed examining his ceiling. There were no new video games on the market and not a single thing on the television. Without any new thing to attract his attention, he found himself thinking about his friends. He wondered if Cartman had gotten thrown out of Butters' house yet for that mouth of his. He wondered if Kyle had found a job to satisfy his parents. He wondered if Kenny had made it home alright after all. He smiled softly as he thought about Kenny, laying on his ratty, old mattress, drinking a coke, and laughing at something vulgar.

Sighing, he glanced at the door when he heard heavy footsteps banging up the stairs. He figured it was just his father, still pouting about there having been no party, so he didn't pay much attention to it. When his door swung open without so much as a knock the next however, he jumped up from his bed in alarm.

" _Dad! _I told you to knock first!" he exclaimed in what could qualify as guilt in his world of subtle emotions. The last thought he had was of Kenny's sapphire eyes peering up at him before he realized he wasn't facing his father. Rather, it was his best friend. Kyle didn't greet him nor regard him at all. He just sulked over to Stan's bed and fell face down onto it. The activist moved his foot to avoid being hit, even if Kyle was no where near him, " What's up, dude?"

" I had to get a job," the Jew mumbled into the sheets, gripping his hands at his sides. Stan idly nodded as he dropped down onto the bed beside him. He folded his legs underneath himself as he leaned back.

" Yeah, I know. You already told me that," he reminded the redhead without any snarky attitude to his voice. He stared down at the boy as Kyle shifted his position. Thos emeralds were revealed in annoyance as he tilted his head to the side in order to talk without muffling his words.

" No. I _really _had to get a job," Kyle informed him with a touch of heat. There was a brief silence as the activist rolled that through his mind. Giving him a strange look, he pushed himself forward. His confusion seemed to be expected, if only because the fact was so obvious, it probably should have been addressed in their previous conversation.

" Wait. . ." Stan started, pointing at him before slowly moving his hand to the side. Kyle allowed him his moment of piecing this together like a true friend, " You had to get a job?"

" Yeah. . ."

" You're fifteen. You can't get a job,"

" I'm working illegally," the Jew answered the unspoken question firmly. He didn't sound mad about it, although there was enough fire within his eyes to paint a vivid picture as to how he truly felt. Blinking, Stan appeared to look interested in this for a moment. Then, as always, his face fell into the cold lines of unconcern and disinterest.

" Where?" he implored, searching his own mind for a place where Kyle could work. The answer he was given, however, was shocking enough to render even his blank face surprised. He actually felt himself draw back in said emotions as those few words pierced the air with exacting precision.

" A liquor store,"

" Dude," was the only word Stan could find to fully express his opinion. Kyle nodded absentmindedly as he squeezed his eyes shut. While the Jew attempted to block out his memories, the activist remained quiet in his confused introspection. Turning away, then back again, he scrunched up his nose, " How's that supposed to teach you to be a man?"

" It teaches me how to lie, deceive, cheat, and make money doin' it all," Kyle sneered back without a drip of anger to his even voice. Stan raised his eyebrows as a half smile crossed his lips at the sarcasm that was so gracefully poised in his best friend's words. The technique was just so essentially envy worthy, " How's that not teaching me to be a man?"

" It _sounds _like something Cartman could teach you in one afternoon," Stan remarked, impressively showing his teeth in a small smile. Kyle rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. To further his point, he jabbed a finger at the photo sitting just beyond Stan's hip. They both gazed at that full, wholly arrogant face grinning up at them from a distant, long lost memory.

" No. It _sounds _like something Cartman taught me in one afternoon five years ago," the Jew replied hotly, letting his hand fall to the side. Stan was inclined to agree with him and he did so with a nod and a verbal expression of said feelings.

" True," he told him, turning away from the haunting image of the four of them out by Stark's Pond. Shrugging idly, he glanced over at the moaning redhead, " But at least it'll teach you to _save _that money. That's something Cartman was never good at,"

" Stan," Kyle curtly said, giving him a sideways glance just as harsh. Stan wasn't affected by either the tone nor the gaze. He was utterly immune to the displaced rage that the hotheaded Jew was renown for.

" Yeah?"

" I'm fifteen. I'm working illegally,"

" Yeah,"

" What the hell makes you think I'm going to save my money?" he demanded with a sly, devilish smile that would have made many people shiver for its true intentions. Stan barely noted it as he shrugged and shifted his weight a bit from one side to the other. If it weren't for the completely blank look to his aquamarine eyes and face, he would have looked uncomfortable. As it was, they were there and he didn't.

" If you don't, you'll have to get another job," the activist suggested plainly. His logic was there, but the grin that washed over that pretty face said there was something he hadn't considered yet. A flash of water pooled through Stan's blood as the touch of wickedness making those emeralds appear so close to black darkness.

" How the hell are my parents going to know what the hell I'm making?" Kyle questioned with a familiar touch of arrogance to his smile. It was a touch that his eyes simply glowed with, " It's not like I'm getting a pay stub,"

" Huh. . ." Stan allowed his voice to trail off in admiration for the cold sneakiness that plagued the freaky four and always had. Shrugged just a little more, he peered down at his smiling friend with such devious plans as lying to Shelia Broflovski. Rather than ask about it, he redirected the conversation to meet his own questions, " So. . . what liquor store?"

" The Liquor Stone,"

" The one where all the employees get high in the backroom?" Stan asked with a tilt of his head and a quizzical narrowing of his eyes. He was granted a nod in favor to his guess.

" The one and only,"

" The one where Kenny gets his weed?"

" Yup," Kyle informed him blandly. Stan nodded to the answer before he bunched up his nose in clear and obvious distaste. He pointed down at Kyle as he spoke in a voice wholly expressive of the sour look pouring onto his every facial line in a shocking reveal of emotion.

" You mean that one where they all know us by name like freakin' stalkers 'cause Kenny tried to burn the place down 'cause they refused to sell him liquor after Cartman got into a fight with one of the employees?"

" That's the one,"

" Dude," he replied as he moved his body forward in what could be called mocking sympathy. He lightly patted Kyle on the back with just his fingers, " Good luck with that,"

" What'd you mean, 'good luck with that'?" Kyle questioned as he rolled onto his back and rested his hands on his flat stomach. Stan arched an eyebrow in a knowing way before the Jew waved a hand to the side, " They don't check ids. It's optional,"

" Really?" Stan replied with a hint of hope to his voice. He was presented with a hearty nod and a knowing grin in return to his stare. Kyle spoke with an obnoxious amount of pooling sarcasm, but it was just enough to make Stan actually chuckle under his breath at the show of immaturity.

" Store policy. If they look old enough, then we don't check. If they don't look old enough, this is America and everyone's money is green. And if they look like a cop, yes, we check ID," the Jew gave another nod in mocking notion before he sighed. The immaturity vanished as he rolled his eyes in annoyance, " Only thing I had to learn in training,"

" Training?"

" Took about 15 minutes, give or take," Kyle muttered, flipping his hand from side to side in a motion that said 'sorta maybe' in his body language. Stan solemnly agreed, for not particular reason, then turned his gaze towards the clock he had discovered on the floor that morning. Peering at it, then returning his stare to those emeralds, he halfway smiled.

" So. . . when's your first shift start?" he calmly, complacently asked with the lightest smile to his lips. Over a decade of friendship allowed Kyle to see straight through the gentle facade. Rather then address it outright, however, he childishly replied with a smirk.

" Tomorrow at eight,"

" AM or PM?"

" AM," the Jew answered quickly as he pushed himself onto his side. He pressed his cheek into his elbow as he looked through his red locks to those waiting, questioning eyes of oceanic views, " Wanna get wasted by noon?"

" I'm sure I can bum some cash off my dad," Stan responded with a sly smile of his own. It vanished, however, when Kyle shot him one of the darkest, coldest, hardest stares he had ever seen in all of his fifteen years on the Earth. A shiver actually spread through his whole being at the wicked fury within those deathly iced emeralds.

" Stanley Marsh," Kyle barked, venom rocking his words to the alarmed core of the activist. When those eyes softened as a smile worked it's way onto that suddenly mocking face, " We have been best friends since we were four. I'm not charging you. Not for the first buy,"

" You're awesome, man,"

" I do what I can,"

The two shared a wicked grin as they knocked knuckles in the steady still of the evening before the summer. To them, they saw this job as the opportunity of a lifetime. As the night cascaded from the skies into that midnight bedroom, they had no idea just how right they were. Nor how devastatingly wrong.


	5. White Trash Blues

Summer in South Park was an oxymoron. There was a contradiction of interests within the very concept. The people of the mountain town never entertained the concept very seriously because of this. After all, when it snowed almost ten months of the year, and the summer was a bleak, though sunshine filled, few weeks leading to the inevitable, there was no true concept of summer. For the majority of the population, nothing changed outside of the youngsters wandering the mall and parks earlier in the daytime rather than close to the time when the streetlights glowed. For those youngsters, summer wasn't much of anything either. Celebrated as a time for great fun and luscious romances, the kids of the city barely viewed it as anything outside of eight weeks where school was closed. Otherwise, their lives proceeded as normal, particularly if they were young. The same groups of children gathered at the same places and went about the same routines. The only difference was the length those routines extended as their days grew less organized. In the older children, this theory was relatively upheld. Most of the teenagers slept until noon, then walked down to the park to complain about having nothing to do, then walked home when it was supper time. Those, however, were the outsiders. They were outside the loop of interest and thus were kept in an unforgiving cycle of monotony.

Not the same was true of the insiders. Few claimed the title, but they were a unique few who wore it well. The femmes, BeBe and Wendy, strolled from popular hangouts in flashy outfits, wearing bangles on their wrists. They talked like Hollywood movies stars and spent the summer sunbathing, pool hopping, and shopping for knock off designer clothing. The Crips, Jimmy and Timmy, walked the miracle mile with their gang clothes wrapped around their foreheads. They cracked knuckles with men whose track records bore the words 'serial offender' and 'threat to the community'. Their summers were a blitz of gang wars, shoot outs, and theft in their older members pimped out rides. The five who hung with Craig navigated the realm of the edge of South Park. Craig flipped the bird as Tweek shivered, Clyde smiled underhandedly, Thomas the Tourette's Kid shyly cursed, and Token booked them rides into the glamour society. The days of summer for them were a coffee filtered haze of rich dude pool parties, guitar bashes in basements, and the frequent trip down to the amusement parks on the Blacks' dime. Butters was an innocent, yes, but he hung with the worst of the worst and worse, the badest of those freaky four. He was a named associate of blood lustful Nazi Cartman and was deemed a potential threat. His summers were locked up behind closed doors and only the two of them knew what it was the shell shocked stares of the beginning of school were all about.

Yet, the best of the summer was spent in the tattered sneakers of the freaky four themselves. The usual rounds of summer had never officially found its way into their bedrooms. For fifteen long years, summers had flitted by in a hurry. And for fifteen years, summer had proved to be something of interest with those four. Summer had born witness to rock concerts on shoulders with lighters, the rare drunken screaming match in the middle of the woods, the flare gun attack on the fur coat industry, the burning of the warehouse on the end that had been abandoned, and the broken jaw of that poor kid, whatshisname, who had walked into the community center during a séance between one Nazi, one Jew, one activist, and one poor boy. This summer, this new summer with its burning blaze on that lost town, threatened the bounds of those reputations. For once, it appeared that summer had failed to deliver for them. However, summer was just beginning and in the beginning, everything seemed normal when it came to Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh, and Eric Cartman.

Still, it was quite the boring beginning.

The first two weeks had trickled by like the last minute on the last day of the last year of school. At least, that's how Stan had taken it. He had been laid out on his bed, staring a hole into the paint of his room, in utter boredom. Fourteen days, and not a thing had come up to gather his attention for more than a passing glance. He had to admit, he wasn't the most easily amused person. Yet, this was becoming an unheard of level of ridiculous. Never before had he spent so long laying on his bed, staring at his blank television set, wishing there was something more entertaining to do. Considering everything supposed to be going on, Stan honestly couldn't believe fourteen days had gone by with not a lick of interest.

Though, he couldn't say it was for lack of effort on his part. For the majority of his life, whenever boredom set a new precedent, it was due largely to the fact that he had chosen to sleep till one, eat cherrios in his pajamas while watching cartoons, before turning in for a six hour long nap. This was not the case. He got up whenever he heard his mother screaming for him to, somewhere between ten and eleven am. He sat out on his front porch, eating a protein bar, searching for life he could slip into and hang with while waiting for his phone to ring with KayBee lol EC, Ten $ Whore lol EC, or Pokah Face. He saw plenty images of the other insiders coming and going, some waving, some flipping him the bird, but otherwise, nothing of severe interest. By the time the street lamps came on and the neighborhood dimmed out, Stan would head inside for dinner. His phone never rang.

Honestly, he hadn't expected it to. Kyle was often at work, as his shift started at eight and drifted through until six. He would come home sometime later, waving over at the Marshs whenever Stan lingered on his front porch. Every time, he shouted that he was too tired to hang out. He was still getting adjusted to his new time crunch and was working on switching shifts. Until then, Kyle was too out of it to be much fun other than a cushion while Stan played fighter games alone. As for the other two, he wasn't entirely sure what Cartman and Kenny were doing. When it came to Cartman, if he wasn't blowing up Stan's phone during the summer, asking when the freaky four could do something for him, he was usually at Butters. That was an invitation only affair and only the innocent and the Nazi had invitations. Kenny, of course, was too poor to be running around all over town. However, he made his coin down on the dirty streets beyond Seventh street, where the lights were red, and he didn't like to involve his friends in his work. The blond would call when he was available and so far his texts had painted a picture of a dull, dragging summer of babysitting littered with the few 'Seeing John Talk Later'.

With those three out of the picture, Stan had exhausted his options. His life was at a standstill. Normally, he wouldn't have minded so much. He could just kill time playing video games, walking down to Stark's Pond, or sleeping until his mother kicked him in the head for daring to sleep for eighteen hours when the fence needed repainting. Not being able to even _talk_ to these people, though, was what was murder on him. Even on the days when he was barely alive, he talked to them. He would have a random phone call from Kyle, asking him to log on to somewhere to post a comment about something. He would get texts galore from Cartman, telling him this or that about whatevah the Nazi happened to be doing or thinking about. He would get a raunchy picture e-mailed from Kenny of some whore he was looking at online or in a porno. Yes, his electronic connections would be buzzing with those threes version of normality. If not, they would swing by to bang on his door, eat some of his food, and whisper their insanity until he couldn't take it and booted them back out the door, waving and grabbing a doggie bag to go.

These past fourteen days, however, he had barely heard a peep from them.

By the middle of the day on the fifteenth day, Stan could say that boredom was not the only feeling he held within the pit of his stomach. Staring at his ceiling, his mind wandered to the possibilities littering the lives of the Nazi and the pervert. He knew Kyle was slumming around the Liquor Stone, smart mouthing customers. He didn't know exactly where nor what the other two were up to. He figured Cartman was at Butters. He assumed Kenny was at home. He didn't _know_, though, which was a strikingly scary thought. Swallowing hard, he momentarily considered that they weren't doing anything wrong. However, experience told him otherwise.

Stan found himself on his feet minutes before he actually contemplated the most horrifying thought of them all. In fact, he was halfway to his bedroom door when it flashed into his mind like an icy splash of broken glass to the back of his conscious mind. He had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing at the thought. As quickly as he could then, he jerked on his shoes and pushed his way through his own frozen habits to make it out the door. He took the steps two at a time and bolted from the staircase to the door. He was out into the shocking heat as the thought twirled about the forefront of his mind, flirting perilously with his ability to remain calm and collected like the sea.

What if Kenny and Cartman were together. _Alone_.

A flurry of frost moved over Stan's blood.

Wasting no time, the activist made his way down a few houses and across the train tracks to the rundown shack that was the McCormick place. Unlike his house, it hadn't been weathered with time. Time had practically raped and brutalized their home. The paint had been stripped and the lawn was wrecked with just murky, muddy dirt. A rusty pickup laid defeated in the front, its wheels missing and its hood being used as part of the falling apart fence. A sign was nail gunned to the front door, reading 'For Sale'. Even the paint there was faded with neglect.

Yet, Stan wasn't turned away. Outsiders didn't approach the McCormick place. They just didn't, for no reason, no way, no how. Even the tough talking rednecks of the honkytonk bars avoided approaching the make shift home of those wide eyed, blood shot ruffians. In the years he had known Kenny, the police had been knocking down that door more then anyone else's. Drug busts, domestic abuse, and sex scandals were rampant themes amongst the two dead drunk parents, Carol and Stuart. The screaming, bottle throwing, punch flying fights of the seven children were commonplace. The home was a shrieking haunted house of two failure adults and seven ghostly pale children. No one wanted to touch that. There was a certain sense of dread which spilled out in the form of shouted swears and slamming doors late into the early morning all around that house. No, no one wanted to touch it. Mostly out of fear of dropping the final straw that ended with a formal arrest.

The activist, though, walked right up to the door. He didn't care that the poor boy was one of seven thieving, whoring offspring who would eat their parents if they thought the meal would be decent. He couldn't care less that the adults were often found puking in the bushes after a night of whacking their family members senseless. All Stan saw was a light on. All he cared about was that. He banged his fist on that flimsy, wooden door until he heard cussing and swearing. He kept on knocking, shouting for his friend. Those vulgar expressions poured ever closer. Then the door was thrown open and the entire scene became a solitary image within the frozenly pure mind of the suddenly smiling activist.

Kenny McCormick stood before him, one hand against the door frame and the other currently pushing through a mess of tangled hair. His sapphires gleamed in the daytime shimmers pooling behind the broken home. His face, though, was caught up in the dancing shadows of his locks falling lightly back into place. He stared at Stan, his face somewhat on the blankly amused side. Stan, for his part, stole a look down at the bare chest and slender stomach of his friend. The pervert wore only his ratty, orange jacket over a scissor sliced pair of jean shorts. Everything else was open for viewing, from his collar bone to his dirty toes. This was a sight which Stan consumed before he lightly waved, feeling hotly awkward and coldly confident interchangeably.

" Hey, Ken," Stan meekly greeted him, lowering his hand back to his side. He became aware of his own clothing choice in that moment. He saw the crumpled tee depicting an animal rights movement and familiar ink stained jeans. Thanking himself silently for having remembered to thrown on a shirt, he looked up hurriedly when Kenny tipped his head in his direction.

" 'Sup, Stan?"

" Nothin'. Just. . .you know. . around," the activist fumbled to say, gesturing into the air in a halfhearted manner. His hand flitted a couple times, then dropped to his side yet again. He wasn't sure exactly what he wished to say nor how to brooch the subject of his intention. Honestly, he found his liquid, aquamarine gaze of those creamy thighs to be highly distracting of higher mental processes.

" Yeah? That right?" Kenny mockingly stated, glancing around and running his fingers through his mess of blond. His hood inched back on his head, threatening to fall to his shoulders. Fighting the urge to move, to straighten it, Stan firmly nodded.

" Yeah," his voice sounded highly stiff when it moved from his dry mouth to the air. Knowing nothing else but those sapphires, Stan gave a shrug. Forcing himself to, he motioned for the poor boy to step aside to allow him entrance to his grimy realm. Unfortunately, he was answered rudely as Kenny jerked his other arm and pushed his palms into the frame. He utterly denied the activist his entrance while he cast him a slow, underhanded Cheshire grin towards him.

" I didn't say you could come in," Kenny sneered in an airy timbre. His every word stirred the liquid dripping into Stan's blood. The searing cold jumped into his bones, his heart, his head in painful jolts. His throat nearly closed in from the pressure applied. Still, he spat out his questions of poisonous descent.

" What?" Stan ripped his stare from those lovely legs to the living room barely visible over the other's shoulder. He felt his eyes narrow long before he became aware of the darkness which had crept into the lines of his apathetic affect. Sweeping the shambles, he saw nothing out of the ordinary outside of an overturned couch. Thus, he forced his face empty as he turned his harsh orbs back to the smiling face of the poor boy, " You got company or something?"

" Maybe I do. What's it to ya?" the blond questioned, tapping one finger against the wood. His eyes danced with a glorious amount of undistinguishable emotions. Stan struggled to make sense of the electricity to those jewels as he felt the ice drowning his senses to a dullness he could almost not withstand. His eyes slowly averted while his blood eased into the freezing temperatures. These levels, however, were nothing pleasant. Rather, they nearly burned in their buried terror, reeking havoc on his attempt to remain poised.

" Oh," he mumbled, unable to string together another word. His thoughts raced in a jumbled puzzle as he felt his shoulder moving into a displaced shrug. There was a flash of white throughout his world, cutting like a razor from his plunging water grave bound heart to his iced stomach. Then, his movements entered the realm of disconnection. The blood, unmoving, within his veins snapped when he turned to walk down to breathtakingly long stretch of tarnished walkway to the sidewalk. Before he could try to move a step away, though, his arm was snatched up and a burst of rolling, pouring, burning laughter cascaded throughout his world. Still, he recognized that Kenny was laughing under his breath and the sound was mute at best.

" Dude, there ain't nobody here but me," Kenny informed him, his fingers pushing into the bare flesh of the activist. Stan blinked in the realization, brought back to staring at that hardly covered form roughly. A slight splash of agitation hit his flesh, hardening his soft lines. Those sapphires never stopped glowing in their gleaming.

" Then why can't I come in?" Stan barked, allowing the cold to form in his aqua eyes. The feeling of the chill washed away the harshness, however, for he felt his back tensing to this creature's games. The game, the play, was relaxing to him. The control of it was taken and somehow, losing control to Kenny felt more controlled than anything which came before it. He couldn't explain it any better. He knew he had lost control, lost the fight even as the game was setting up, but he felt better for it.

" I never said you couldn't," was the answer he was played. Kenny cast him that grin so carelessly, it was almost dangerous. A nice trump to his statement, nevertheless. A drop of ice slid from Stan's mind to his blood stream like a knife point dragging along the skin. The pain was the same, anyways, when he was forced to address the obvious counter attack.

" You blocked the door,"

" You're a big boy," the poor boy retorted, removing his hands from the frame at last. Instead of stepping aside, he stepped a bit closer. He patted the activist on the shoulder, teasing him without the words normally used. His fingers remained feather light on the edge of Stan's shirt collar. The faintest brush of heat licked off those fingers, puncturing the brunette's resolve, " Can't you knock me down?"

" You're insane," Stan offhandedly mumbled, his eyes rolling in a quick and unsteady arch to avoid the gripping stare piercing him from behind that orange hood. For all his avoidance, he couldn't escape the claws of the blond's catty smile. It curled itself about his shoulders, nuzzling his cheek, in a thunderous tidal wave of frozen waters washed away all over thought.

Quivering in a hesitant, cautious manner, Stan knew not what else to do other than enter the home. He gingerly nudged Kenny out of his way and slipped through the narrow doorway into the thrown together living room. He couldn't deny the way his waist molded against the shirtless body of the grinning pervert. The shock of lightning striking the waters of his cold soul made sure of that. In truth, he was forced to draw in a shallow breath in order to maintain the thoughtless expression poised on his face. Just as he was gathering himself, though, he heard the door clattering shut and the lock being fastened. The next second, Kenny sauntered into his line of sight, those creamy hips swinging about under his loose, cut up jeans. Curling his finger like his smile curled, he beckoned the activist from the steadily plummeting temperatures of the family room. Walking like water, Kenny moved from the crime scene of the fighting grounds through the four foot wide hallway to the last bedroom on the right. There, a stolen Stop sign was nail gunned to the door. An orange death threat was spray painted over this nicked piece of property, written in the jagged, cutting strokes of the pervert's hand. Kenny pushed his hand into this door, shoving it open with a wide swing. He motioned for Stan to come in and once he had, he pulled the door shut behind his skinny bottom. The inside of the room was in worse condition than the rest Stan had laid eyes on. The window was boarded up with rotting wood littered with burn marks and curse words cut in with a knife. The single piece of furniture was limited to a bed without real frame. The frame, rather, were a few boards nailed together so that it was above the floor. Said floor was littered with various pieces of trash, tossed aside text books, magazines from hunter digests, and a considerable amount of porno rags of every domination.

These pornos, however, were not limited to just the floor as they were on other visits. They were scattered over the frayed bed sheets in thick stacks. One was even spread open to the centerfold of a blond woman dressed in a black leather costume. Her positioning was scandalous at best, for her legs were spread and her breasts thrust up in a very particular vocal position.

Next to her, Stan took his seat, gingerly moving said rag to one of the piles on the sheets. His eyes wandered the pages in wide, general sweeps. He took note of the titles and the features, but found nothing appealing enough to actually wish to partake in scanning the pages within. He thus quickly turned his attention entirely to the poor boy. Kenny gave a hearty yawn without covering his mouth. He hiked his hood up so that part of his face was once more cast in grey shadows. Those fair features seemed much harsher without the bubbly blond hair, the shimmering blue eyes, and the porcelain skin. Stan could, at that moment, honestly agree that Kenny appeared to be the notorious foulmouthed brat he was known as.

Although, Stan didn't agree with the sediment in the slightest.

" Yo, you wanna coke or somethin'?" Kenny absentmindedly asked, his eyes lingering on the fold of the activist's legs beneath his lithe form. The slyness to his upturned lips increased slowly, deliberately when his searching orbs crossed the zipper. To retain the look of emptiness, Stan was inclined to grip the sheets with both hands. Still, ice melted through Stan's flesh into his very core as he barely breathed out his sternly nonchalant response.

" Sure,"

" Aiight. Bear with me. Gotta find it," the pervert's answer was plain and simple with good natured humor. A sense of relief hovered over the freezing skin breaking in the silent shivers. Unfortunately, it was a premature relief which could never have prepared the activist for the outrageous experience he was subjugated to by that infamous creature.

Turning quickly, his dirt stained feet shifting effortlessly, Kenny dropped to his knees in front of Stan's frozen form. Those light fingers pushed hot palms into the ink stained jeans of the activist. First, they were firm on the knees. Then they slipped to grip at his calves before easing down to his ankles. White blacked out Stan's mentality, his breath catching roughly in his throat. He tried to protest, but found his body heavy with the ice weighing his blood down. His heart stopped, unable to pump the shattered shards, as his legs were jerked up and over the slender shoulders of the blond. There they stayed for an eternal second. The next, those jewels flashed in a pulsing, electric flicker of a shining smile of faded white teeth. There was a laughing wink in his iced positioning in the world of shaking emotions too pure to assume to be mere players in this lasting game.

Without warning, though, Kenny ducked below Stan's intense stare of unwavering ability to look elsewhere. The activist's legs dropped down and his feet smacked into the ground with a dull sound nearly unheard over the pounding of a heart struggling against the cold. A rush of heat overthrew the chill, leaving him unarmed and unfocused on the sheets. His aquamarine eyes stared holes into the opposing wall for the sake of having something less alluring within their gaze. The breaths that managed to make it to his lungs stabbed him venomously with every gasp. For that reason alone, he said nothing. What he would have said otherwise, however, he didn't know. He wasn't even sure there was a phrase to wholly enclose the vast rush of water swirling before his mind's eye, drowning out his nonchalance without concern to how he appeared. He was thus left without knowledge of the shell shocked expression on his blanched face burning with a damningly raw emotion.

" Found it," Kenny exclaimed in a boldly interruptive voice. After having rummaged beneath his bed, he popped up on the other side, his back close to the wall with the window. Getting to his feet, he handed the coke to the slowly heating Stan, " It's a little warm, but. ."

Shaking his head in his form of waving off the comment, the activist took the offered drink. He cracked it open and took his first small sip of many. For a moment in time, he merely sat there and watched Kenny. The blond shifted his weight from one foot to the other briefly. Yawning again, however, he dropped down onto the bed, and the rags. He adjusted the angle, pulling up the pornos to toss them onto the dust lined floor without care. Once settled, though, Kenny said nothing. He just smiled aimlessly at Stan, as if excited to have a visitor of any shape or form. He presented nothing else. His cards remained hidden for his poker face was as clean and blank as anything the brunette could ever hope to achieve. Searching the grimy scene for a place to move his first pawn, Stan caught sight of the porn. He played the chip with noted gamble.

" So. . .what were you up to?" he began, fingering the edge of the can. Kenny caught his move with a play of his own. He, of course, was much more devious. He liked to cheat and cheat he did. He presented an ace when he flipped the side of his jacket open, revealing the long line of his silhouette. The curve of his hip was coldly captivating. His words, on the other hand, were anything but.

" Jerkin' off," Kenny calmly informed the other without a hint of embarrassment or reserve. He practically shrugged it off with the activist's characteristic apathy. The sip in process halted immediately at that. Stan actually felt himself having to ask for clarification as his eyes squeezed shut in mild disbelief. Had he not known the pervert as long as he had, he might be tempted to pass this off as a joke.

" What?" Stan had to fight impressively hard to keep his tone even and steady. Even as he tried, he caught a bit of a razor's edge. Swallowing dryly, he averted his eyes secondary, before returning them to the nearly blank look of the other. The poor boy did shrug this time, his shoulders bouncing up and down quickly.

" Jerkin' off," he repeated without a change of timbre. Leaning forward, however, Kenny scrunched up his nose in the impossibly cute way he did. He put his half way hidden face within inches of Stan's and tilted it to the side. Looking sideways, he cocked a mildly poisonous smile, " Can't you tell?"

" That's disgusting," the activist sneered, despite his voice holding no repulsion whatsoever. On the contrary, when he looked down to the rags and made an uncontrollable face, it was not the face of vile turn about. Instead, it was a look of bitter cold confusion. Arching an eyebrow, he moved said iced expression to the sly smile of the breathtakingly lovely face of his blond friend. He almost didn't ask, for he saw the question as a potential can of worms. Regardless, curiosity got him by the cuff and he did it anyways, " Why would you even answer the door?"

" I thought it was my sibs. Those fuckin' brats were drivin' me fuckin' crazy so I threw they asses out the fuckin' door. Said if those fuckers wanted back in, they'd have to get the fuckin' cops. So, y'know," Kenny paused to take the can from Stan. He took a hearty gulp from it, before passing it back. He then proceeded to wipe his mouth on the tattered sleeve of his dirty jacket, " Figured I'd answer the door,"

" O-kay. . ." the activist muttered, allowing his voice to trail off. The softest of smiles smoothed over his lips as he pressed the can to his mouth to take another sip. In his imagination, he could still feel the warmth from the poor boy's lips when he did. The smile remained on his mouth when he tapped the can back to his thigh, " That's. . .um. . . weird, actually,"

" So, what brings you by my place?" the blond said, completely ignoring the assessment of his previous decisions concerning his siblings. At his question, though, the chill flushed over Stan's suddenly numb body. Wetting his lips as the icy waters trickled down his spine, he gave a shrug with no meaning. Moving his fingers slowly, deliberately, with a surprisingly amount of control, he began to fiddle with the tab of the can.

" Jus'. . .y'know. Wanted to hang out," Stan replied in the same slow, deliberate manner. The words sounded as heavy as they felt on his tongue. Nevertheless, the choice appeared to be a decent enough play. He could feel the tension rising as the stakes grew ever higher. He was unprepared for how high they were, though. He was reminded in a striking blow as electric words slipped through those tender lips and into his frozen bloodstream.

" With me?"

" Well, yeah. With you,"

" Why's that?" Kenny spoke with such delicate words, it seemed as if he were whispering without ever lowering his voice. The pressure mounted in those words was unbelievable. They ripped through the flood gates, drowning the activist in a flurry of statements, all the wrong ones. His voice caught as those sapphires danced in strikes about his face. Kenny awaited the answer with the control of a predator, although the look to his orbs was anything but.

" What'd you mean?" Stan knew exactly what he meant. He just knew he had no answer for the inquiry. He needn't wait for Kenny to clarify. Those eyes softened in what was really a narrowed gaze of darker intentions, harder implications. The softness seen there only lowered Stan's temperatures more, sending him into a fit of shivers as his lips went cold.

" You ain't. . .y'know. ." the poor boy's voice went still as he leaned his body into his arm, pressed so firmly still in front of his slender frame. The blue vanished, only to replaced with a deeper gaze without the lingering grin, " Wanted to hang out with 'just me' in a long time,"

" Oh. Really?" he said for the sake of saying. Stan was being backed into a corner, he could feel it with every frosted splash that seared through his flesh. Kenny pushed him back harder as he moved in closer, his eyes falling away to the darkness of his jacket. His lips moved easily through the thick words of accusation which were never fully uttered. Stan just drew in a stabbing breath as he sat stiff on the bed.

" Yeah, really,"

" Sorry, dude," the brunette made a faltering attempt at lighting the air between the two. He felt the pressure pushing coldly warm hands into his mind. He had to ease the tension, unless he wished to face the defeat of the indifference he wore. He could feel the mask cracking to the cold already.

" Man, you fuckin' retarded. I don't know why I put up with you," Kenny growled out, his entire form jerking back so he was seated much farther away. His blond hair spilled around his hunched shoulders as he bit down on his lower lip. The tension sparked like a slap against the very essence of Stan's being. He felt the charge jumping into his blood and running through the waters there to his mind like a livewire in a rainstorm. The shock was as stunning as it was painful to behold.

" We're friends. I guess that's why," Stan offered weakly, his hands gripping the can. The effort to remain calm was a losing battle. Every turn the blond took moved them closer to the stalemate he could sense coming. He need a smile to erase the freezing haunting to his ghostly pallor face. He wasn't presented with one. Instead, the bejeweled eyes of the other traced along his shivering body was muted contempt. Every line they traced was cut open by a glassy ice shard so that heat could spill life into those frozen veins.

" Yeah. _Friends. _That helps," the poor boy spat out, his words hot and wet. They oozed into the flesh wounds as the activist stared, watching that slender boy with as much attention as he was capable of. As for Kenny, he finally turned his piercing gaze elsewhere. His hands moved back, though, resting on the sheets behind him. Their warmth eased over Stan's hand and he felt his fingers slipping over those dirty digits. He did so absentmindedly, and without visual acknowledgement, even when he gave Kenny's hand a tender squeeze.

" I like hanging out with you, Kenny,"

Every breath in Stan's whole soul could not bring those words to life. He breathed them out in a silk melody of desperate longing. His eyes fell away to the waters rising within. He was drowning in the moonless darkness of his own design. The frozen ocean quaked with the brewing storm, highlighting the furious emotions trapped inside those lightly aquamarine eyes. The cold was unbearable as he sat there, so close to the electric charge that could bring him alive in the most livid of ways. Just the glow to those sapphires was enough to shock the waters and bring his eyes suddenly up to see the whole of the angel sitting before him. He took in, with fresh, stark cold clarity, those forsaken eyes in that beautiful face, and he heard the question just beyond the watery grave he was sinking into in his desire to remain undiscovered.

" Why?"

The question hung in the pulsing air with the stigma of never being answered. Stan couldn't provide an answer suitable for it. His shoulder shrugged his indecision, his eyes turning away from the hungry stare eating at the ice encasing his soul. His thumb moved over the tab again, pushing and shoving it, as his mind was submersed in the depths of his icy apathy. The breath around him was steadily growing scarcer. Every breath he did find went down like burning acid. Standing it no longer, he moved his widening gaze back to the heart stopping eyes of Kenny. He couldn't find the strength to pretend any longer. The mask fell away in crumpling pieces, crashing into the waters, with every one of those three, tiny words.

" I like you,"

The sapphires never looked more stunning then in the moment after Stan finally allowed himself breath beneath the waters. The jolt that shattered the ice was stunning in its direction towards the beating heart inside. He felt the pressure striking him, engulfing him in the power of the words. That power resounded in the air as the electricity pierced the waters. The way those eyes moved over the activist, he felt every single, solitary needle prick. Every small wound cut away his resolve as the mask vanished to the darkness of the waters deepening the pool to his aqua eyes. The jewels swam in them, drinking them down, as the loveliness of Kenny became regal in the light of the new dynamic.

" Like me?" his voice rolled into the heavy air from his expressionless mouth. Moving with the flow of the storm brewing within the other, Kenny drew his free hand up from the tangled sheets. He reached over and pulled the can from Stan's shivering hands. The can was discarded on the floor, set down with a clink which shot into the air as loud as a gunshot. Gaining the look and feel of lightning, the poor boy had Stan down on his back, on the freezing mattress below, in one swoop. He leaned over him with the eyes of desire and the mouth of pleading, " Or something more?"

The eyes of aquamarine heaven stared up at the asking eyes of the other in unadulterated surprise. There was nothing surprising of the words themselves, no. Merely in the astonishing face presented. Kenny rarely appeared as anything outside the wide eyed ruffian he was when dressed in his hunter orange jacket and torn apart jeans. Then, in that lifetime, he was something much more attainable. His jacket fallen away in his movements to pin, his face was, at last, free to be seen. His eyes were livid wires sparking with lively stones cut from the ground and polished with the rage of lust. Those were the eyes that made up the expression commanding Stan to speak words which had pressed his tongue for so long now, they had turned his calm waters into a furious hurricane. He hesitated a second longer, his tongue wetting his lips as his eyes took in those jewels with admitted need. Slowly, his head nodded as his words spilled into the air as wet and hot as the mouth hovering above his own.

" Something more,"

When Kenny pressed his lips to Stan's, the embrace was a roaring spitfire of explosions within every inch of space and time. The sparks jolted through the waters and pierced the soul with cutting precision. Every ounce of the activist was consumed with that mouth, that kiss, that feeling. He was instantly lost in the fury of it, the taste of it, the whole of it. His mouth was assaulted by the bite of liquor, the haze of smoke, the tart of sugar, and he swallowed every hue of the shades. His body felt hands pressing into his shoulders. Warmth smoothed over the flesh touched by those life giving hands. He greedily grabbed them up and intertwined their fingers for eternity. He refused to release them as he pushed his whole being into the frame sprawled over him, drinking him in as hungrily.

The pressure of their souls colliding sent Kenny into the sheets as Stan shifted his weight. He pushed that gorgeous boy onto the sheets and he pressed his mouth over his. He tasted those taints and had never felt so alive without them. The thunder of his thoughts screaming never registered. He heard nothing outside the infrequent gasping of the momentary pauses. Even then, he heard only Kenny. He heard the electric breath of his livewire shocking him, breaking the ice into shards which his warmth quickly dissolved. There was nothing left to the frost when he felt a hand tugging free of his grip. Yet, when those feather fingers rested on his chest, the splash which struck him was as ice cold as it was pleasing.

Looking down, beneath him, Stan saw Kenny laying on the sheets in a glazed over haze of pressured air. Through the fog, he saw sapphires glittering up at him in a soft gaze of desire he couldn't place. More so, he took in the gentle lines of that gasping mouth. The tiny upturned corners were stunning in their simplicity, their muted screaming, their silent begging. The appeal was an overwhelming electrocution to his systems. All control was rendered useless as the waters crashed down upon the activist in a rush too strong to fight. He threw off the apathy as rapidly as he could as he snatched up that body and pushed his lips to the throat of the laughing sprite that was his Kenny.

His hands found that body as new as life itself. The curves were subtle in their unforgiving beauty. Kenny's hips were wide for his tiny frame, bearing what little weight graced his form. His stomach was flat and smooth with silky skin as white as creamer split amongst the tablecloth. Every inch of his body was touchable beyond measure. It cried to Stan and he answered, easing his palms over those sides and his thumbs over that belly. His mouth tasted the flesh, the warmth, to the pulsing throat of his newfound love. Dirty hands gripped his own, pushing his gentle grip firmer into the skin he touched for the first time. Kenny snatched up his hands just as they reached his shoulders, however. He was held, his hands moved into the still of the air as the poor boy gripped them tightly. Shivering, he raised his mouth up so that he might look into those sapphires yet again.

A command, never spoken, was resounded in the pulsing heartbeat of the tense air pressing into their burningly frozen bodies submerged in the stormy waters of broken restraint. Their hands separated in forlorn ways as fingers plucked apart buttons and undid zippers. The jacket was tossed to the floor as jeans slipped down and off of legs. Socks were discarded and boxers lovingly pulled away. Stan found himself kneeling on either side of Kenny's slender waist then, bared in nothing but his profound emotions of heated frost. His aqua eyes moved over the flawless form of his now exposed love. The smile which was drawn to his lips was pure and untouched by the waters within. There was nothing to it but the raw, unspoken expression of love coursing through the very pulse of the air surrounding them.

Every movement thereafter was whispered first in slow, low licks of words coming from Kenny's mouth. His dirty fingers rested lightly on the activist's thighs as he told him all he needed to hear as he began. He heard the words whispering over his skin, to which end he followed them perfectly. His fingers were wetted by his own tongue as he watched those heavily lidded eyes gazing up through a haze of lustful hunger. Longing for this, Stan made quick work of the initial process until his member was slick with his salvia. Moving his legs then, he positioned those milky thighs about his shaking hips. His hands were thus snatched up by Kenny, but he was the one who pressed their intertwined fingers into the sheets just above the poor boy's mess of blond.

Staring down into the light of sapphires, Stan penetrated Kenny to the hot, wet groan of delicious wanting desire. The slender body bucked as he thrust into the burning soul to the splash of cold which poured down his soul. The arch to Kenny's back was superb in its aching need to be arched in such a manner as this. Still, all the activist truly saw in this moment of whole oneness, was the look of electric need to that wonderfully flushed face of pure shock. The mouth he had tasted opened in silent screams, his breath catching, with every thrust into his tender, tight ass. The grip at his hands was cascading into the violent, but he never removed his fingers. He just gasped out, a sound louder than the scream, as he pushed himself into the fiery being of the thrashing and moaning blond.

The rocking of their bodies tangled them together in a fierce plunge of frozen waters over Stan's head. His breath suffocated him, trapping him within the state of oblivion. His world became the motion, the sensation, of feeling the warmth of the electric soul shocking him. Every thrust pierced him as his world danced amongst the white stars of the lust overthrowing him. He heard his name in the throws of it, calling to him. His mind was jolted in the mind numbing exhale of words pouring into the air pressing down upon their union. His eyes found those sapphires as he panted heavily over that throat gulping down the air in hunger. The ice pierced his heart when he took in the fire pooling over Kenny's face in rose. Every breath brought them closer to the edge, every push a deeper incision into their own chosen exile from attachment. Yet, when Kenny spoke, his voice was neither the airy moans he admitted as his body jerked nor the strong quake of the way his back arched in pulsing pleasure. Rather, it was the soft silk of the way his body pushed into the stomach of the activist rocking into his soul.

" I love you, Stanley,"

Overtaken by the heat of those words, Stan pressed his mouth over Kenny's with a thrust into that body. He swallowed the scream shouted into his mouth as those eyes squeezed shut in the fit of joy. Drawing only away enough to speak, he gasped out his own heated words. They spilled into the poor boy's mouth as he gripped his hands so tight, he saw his knuckles blanche against the blush of the other's flesh. As he spoke, he had never felt so true in his entire life. He couldn't help the smile which formed on his lips as he took a look at the tears forming in those painfully desperate eyes which needed his words more than the scorching air melting the ice.

" I love you too, Ken,"

Checkmate.

* * *

The walk from the McCormick place was numbing in the faded rays of the setting sun of the day. Stan's footsteps made hollow thuds on the cracked cement and light thumps on the dirt as he crossed from the bad side to the good. Stepping onto the grey sidewalk, he walked on past the houses with the gleaming lights radiating from the windows. He went on past his own house, where he knew his family was setting up for dinner. Instead, he slipped through the shadows, consumed by an emotion which bore no resemblance to anything else he'd ever experienced. He assumed this was the aftermath of the hurricane, for his mind felt swept away in a flurry. Still, he couldn't pinpoint what emotion dominated his blank, stunned expression. He didn't know whether he should laugh or break down in tears. All he knew was that he was stepping up the steps to the Broflovski house and his finger was pushing into the doorbell.

The door was answered by Gerald. The older man looked at Stan with a familiar look of mild amusement to see one of the other freaky four after hours. He was allowed inside to the suggestion of staying for dinner. He didn't acknowledge the invitation. He merely nodded to the greeting and made his way past him. He swept up the stairs and through the hallway to his best friend's bedroom. He didn't feel the need to knock, so he didn't bother to. He pushed open the door to the forest green world and went inside without a word. Shoving the door shut, he then crossed the space between him and the bed. Kyle jerked around in his computer chair in quiet shock as the activist dropped down onto the sheets with a defeated, deadpan sigh.

There was a long silence between the two as Stan stared at the floor. He hung his head in a manner that was ashamed, although that didn't come anywhere near describing the feeling coursing through his body. Still, he didn't know what it was. Thus, he sat there, desperate to discover an answer. Regardless of his attempts, he was left without one. Knowing not what else to do, he pulled his hands back and pressed his palms into the sheets. He didn't need to look up to address the quizzical stare he had been granted from the moment of his arrival. He did, however, offer an explanation. His words which left his mouth tasted hot and felt heavy. The sudden biting chill they sent into his flesh was unimaginably agonizing in its jolting reminder of those moments of unheard pleasure.

" I had sex with Kenny,"

His words stood alone in the awed air for a steady pause of time. He heard Kyle's chair squeak as he jerked back, his feet sliding along the floor to the movement. Yet, nothing was muttered to address the damning statement. The pause extended itself into a silence which lasted long enough to quiet the raging urge to cover his ears. The activist remained still, then, as he sensed the Jew leaning in, as was his usual reaction to stunning declarations that caught him off guard.

" You had sex with Kenny?" Kyle implored, his voice disbelieving in the same way it was astonished. Stan nodded his head in a slow, somber motion which spoke volumes to how he truly felt of this confusion. He felt those eyes narrowing in their emerald questions, " You're gay?"

There was no other answer outside of another slow nod of the head.

" And you never told me?" the Jew's timbre plummeted into the accusation with the heated burn of a scorned hatred for discovering things last. The activist growled out a sigh of raw frustration as he fell backwards onto the plush embrace of Kyle's bed. He firmly pressed a hand to his face, engulfed in the flames typical of the redhead. The blush was the confusion, eating him alive, for this was not something he was used to. He knew not how to explain his sudden fluster nor the accusation thrown at him.

" . . .I didn't know how to tell you. . ." he groaned out, speaking into his wrist and thus muffling his voice. He barely got the words out before he heard Kyle take in the sharp breath of realization. The feeling of a finger being jabbed at his rosy cheeks crossed the inner workings of his mind before the words were declared and he moaned into the air at them.

" Dude, you're blushing. You never blush," Kyle exclaimed in a nearly stately tone that was neither a shout nor a whisper. Stan shook his head as he tried his best not to look at the wide orbs he could feel licking embers over his every exposed inch, " _Ever,_"

The hand held at his forehead dropped to his stomach while the blush over his cheeks burned a little deeper. Stan fought to turn a hardened stare up at the ceiling. He made out the first of several cracks there before his aquamarine eyes were moving down to meet the emerald ones across the room. Kyle just stared back at him, his arms folded over his chest in a defensive stance. The expression over his face, though, were unreadable to the activist. Stan couldn't distinguish them any more than the ones pooling within his icy interior. Nevertheless, having faced the Jew, he found himself stumbling over an explanation he wasn't sure he needed to be giving. It certainly wasn't asked for.

" I didn't mean to have sex with him. . . It just. . ." he stopped short, his eyes turning back towards the frozen minutes before he had entered the electric realm of the sapphire eyed angel. Faltering on the word he wanted, Stan aimlessly gestured to the air with a rolling hand motion, " Happened,"

" I'd imagine. It's Kenny McCormick," the Jew muttered, his eyes rolling up towards his curls. The venom to the look presented by Stan was surprising for the both of them. Having given the gaze, though, the activist didn't turn out of it. Rather, he swirled the tainted waters of that frosted stare and rolled them over the words he barked out in absolute defense.

" It wasn't like that,"

" Are you sure?" Kyle pressed, unfolding his arms and resting his elbows on the back of his chair. He tilted his head slightly as Stan bit down on his lower lip. A taste of smoke lingered within his dry mouth, but it was a welcomed taste. Especially then. He relished in it while his blood was subject to the shards pricking him from the questions brought up. He didn't silence the probing nature of the fire bound redhead, though. He just answered as best he could.

" Yeah. I think," Stan started, his eyes closing to recall the expression imprinted over the memory. He had a flash of the need in those eyes, in that lovely face looking up through the tangles of blond, and his second attempt was much stronger vocally, " Yeah. Yeah, it wasn't like that,"

" If you're sure," the Jew asserted, a hand absentmindedly twisting a curl about one slender finger. Stan looked over at him, then returned his heavy stare to the lines of the ceiling. Sighing deeply, he rolled over and pushed himself cautiously into a sitting position on the very edge of the bed. His shoulders moved into a shrug which was not at all in answer to the careful assertion. He knew Kyle knew that as he mumbled under his breath.

" I want to do right by him," the activist informed him, a stern nod confirming the statement. The look which formed over Kyle's face was a mixture of bewilderment and shock. He pressed his chin deep within the nook of one of his arms, his emeralds glinting behind the loose locks of blood cascading down his shoulders in loops.

" What are you talking about? 'Do right by him'?" he asked, tugging his finger free of the curl. Stan shook his head, a wash of water threatening to drown him in its overpowering arrival. He felt those hands against his own and recalled all the silk milk his fingers had caressed in the gleaming sun of the afternoon. Those coupled memories drew from his lips an affirmation of what it was he addressed.

" I don't want it have just been a hookup,"

" Kenny _is _a hookup," Kyle answered plainly, moving his body back from the chair. There was not a trace of expression to his feminine face. There was, however, a tremendous look of fury over Stan's. His eyes darkened in a sinking sensation of the iced waters rising into a wretched storm. His knuckles whitened as he gritted his teeth in a perilous effort to prevent his blood from dragging itself into artic temperatures. There was no saving the cut from his voice as he spat out his twisted response to such a thing to say.

" Not to me, he isn't," Stan snarled out in a surprisingly even tone. The rise and fall of the shattering waters threatening to flood his every sense never struck his timbre. However, the touch of white wash rage was enough to make the Jew withdraw. He raised his palms in surrender, his eyes blinking at the awe he couldn't hide at the thought of actually having to do so with his best friend. As if to further his point, Kyle verbally confirmed his actions.

" I didn't mean to offend you," he assured him, fanning his fingers out to the sides in a casual manner. Wetting his lips, Stan firmly nodded, attempting to reign in the shards stabbing at his resolve. Kyle, on the other hand, had none of this control. Immediately thereafter, the heat reached his voice and tinted his eyes as he tipped his head to the side in cast away sarcasm, " It's just Kenny is. . . well. . ._loose,_"

" He was a virgin," the activist barked back, his hands gripping up the sheets in a supreme effort not to lash out physically. Kyle seemed to have had all he was having of said rage. His fiery embers overthrew his eyes and he was lost to his own heated delusions. He thus became immune to the raging waters of the other. That became clear in the offhanded manner in which he addressed the subject.

" Well. . . I'm sure. . . the part _you_ penetrated was," Kyle sneered out, his hands drifting through the air in a mocking manner. The harsh cold of the agitation rising up, though, blocked the fires from burning. Stan was intensely used to said response and he was quite capable of looking past it. Instead, he gave his friend a look of unimpressed nature which melted away to the usual apathy of his temperament.

" Shut up, Kyle. He was a virgin. And we. . ." Stan felt the scorching blush jumping over his cheeks as he recalled those sapphire orbs of desire. Nervously, he ran his shaking fingers through the tangled mess of his black hair. He could almost feel those hot words running over his flesh as he saw Kenny's pure smile dancing within the depths of his frozen mask of indifference, calling to him. Still, he spoke the two words with the freezing intentions which had driven him into the arms of the electricity that brought him alive, " Made love,"


	6. Mooch

The Liquor Stone was located on the outskirts of the north of town. It was basically off the road leading to the camp sites which the infrequent tourists frequented. A small, squat building, it was in a small sub division of other stores of various selection; most of the bait, trap, or gun variety. Despite being 'on the outs', the store was less then a fifteen minute brisk walk from the main road which dumped back into the suburbia area. Thus, Kyle walked to and from work with his house keys twirling around his fingers and a small light held in his other hand. He went to work at four in the afternoon, stayed through dinner, and made the lonely walk back home just after midnight. The shift was the graveyard, yes, but it did mean that he was able to see his friends without having them crashing his job. Although they did so anyways, he preferred they not. For that reason, he worked the graveyard and he walked to the square building with considerable resentment for it.

The first few weeks had been indistinguishable from one another. He sat behind the counter in a wheelie chair and flipped through liquor catalogs the boss was supposed to be browsing. He rang up the customers, bitched out drunks trying to steal, and even threw a couple punches that earned him an extra five bucks in tips from laughing co workers. As far as the Jew could tell, he was the only person on staff with enough brain cells to work the cash register. After all, they always 'talked' about switching positions, but he remained forever behind the uncomplicated machine. He didn't mind it much. He'd rather be bored senseless then in the back room smoking joints, counting revenue, or hauling stock.

Behind that register was where Kyle was seated a few days following the shocking reveal that his closest friend was gay. He found his mind wandering over the fact idly while he pressed his cheek deep within his knuckles. He had an elbow propped on a stack of old fishing magazines and his other flipping pages in a wine catalog. He was utterly alone, for his boss had stepped out for lunch, three hours ago, and his only co worker was checking the stock. Bubba, a big, beefy man, had been checking said stock since Kyle had arrived on the shift an hour ago. He had spat out the location of the boss man, then slipped out the door to check stock, despite the fact that stock was not in that general direction. The bait shop with the blond with fake titties was, but not the stock. Nevertheless, Kyle was alone and was well aware that he was going to be until he had to lock up. By then, Bubba would return and the boss would phone in his trust that his workers could lock up.

Turning a page and eyeing an expensive bottle of red wine, Kyle plucked a piece of milk chocolate from a variety bag spread on the counter. As his dinner break was still two hours off, he unwrapped it absentmindedly and placed the yummy treat on his tongue. He chewed it as he did a scan of the empty store out of habit. He knew well enough that there were no customers within those four walls. There hadn't been for forty five minutes. Judging by the growing dimness outside the bullet proof glass, Kyle guessed he wouldn't be seeing many at all. Sighing, then, he rolled his eyes and returned to examining the outrageous price tags on those elegant bottles of refined booze.

As he was reading up on the method of ordering, however, he heard the click of the door opening. He briefly glanced up, checking to see if it were Bubba to complain about how slow it was in hopes of being sent home early. When he looked, though, he was met with a sight for sore eyes. Slinking in through the double doors were Stan and Kenny, arm in arm and hip to hip, as they had been since they had become an official item a few days beforehand. The poor boy giggled into his fingers as he whispered something into the activist's shoulder. Glancing up at him, then, there was a flash of a certain catty smile before Kenny slipped out from under Stan's arm. He pressed his dirty fingers to his lips, blew a popping smack of a kiss, and then trooped off towards the coolers lining the walls stocked with hard liquor. The aquamarine eyes of the other watched that tiny frame leave. Seeing him running his fingers over the names, though, he turned back to the now grinning Kyle. Giving an expressionless wave, Stan approached the counter. The activist picked on one of the scattered pieces of chocolate, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

" That's mine, you know," Kyle teased, pointing up at the brunette. Stan gave a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder to express just how much he cared, " My dinner break isn't for another two hours,"

" Hey. How's business?" Stan greeted him, blatantly ignoring his best friend. Glancing around, those aquamarine orbs took in the store as the Jew had only moments before. He noted the empty aisles, save for the McCormick boy, and returned his gaze to his friend. The smile he cast was devoid of the sarcasm written in his words, " Kinda slow,"

" Try kinda nonexistent,"

" Wow. That sucks,"

" Tell me about it," the redhead mumbled unimpressively, picking up another piece of candy and unwrapping it slowly and deliberately. Stan rolled his eyes in agreement, thumbing to the clock stuck over a cooler for the Bud Lite. The sparkling emeralds of sheer boredom flashed over to it, taking in the devastating realization that it was still just after five.

" How long you stuck here?" Stan questioned idly, his eyes blanking back to the cold apathy they were renown for. Whatever lagging emotion might have been present was quickly extinguished. Kyle was immune to the sudden emptiness, however, and didn't react in any sense of the phrase.

" Till midnight," he answered plainly, placing the chocolate on his tongue. He chewed it, tapping his fingers on the pages of the catalog spread out over the counter. As though to emphasis his agitation, he rolled his eyes up in a slow arch, " Then I get to go home. Sleep until ten, wake up, and get here by four,"

" Harsh. So. . ." the activist's voice trailed off as he tapped the scrunched up wrapper on the counter. He saw the pressure to those emeralds, awaiting the question he wasn't sure he was ready to present. Chewing on his lower lip, then, Stan quickly averted his stare.

He found his gaze resting on the succulent backside of his darling Kenny. Those slender legs were shown so perfectly in short jean shorts, although his loose and unzipped parka hid the arch to his lower back and bottom. Still, he scanned down those thighs, up to those dirt stained fingers gripping the necks of two different bottles of rum and vodka. Swallowing dryly, Stan slowly removed his stare and placed it back on those curls and dark eyes in a pale face of stern unconcern. Kyle ate another piece of candy, his fingers tapping impatiently. Weakly, Stan smiled as he forced himself to ask.

" Can I borrow twenty or thirty bucks?"

" I'm sorry," Kyle stated in a rather matter of fact tone as he physically withdrew from Stan. He pressed his shoulders into the back of his chair. The look he cast up through his tangled mess of loose curls was distasteful. A look truly consumed by his own frustrations with the topic. The activist almost took back his statement when he saw those flames flaring up in those emeralds. Still, when the Jew spoke, his timbre was shockingly even, " Did you just ask me for money?"

" Yeah?" the activist actually felt the need to say it as a question. Considering this was the first time he had ever officially asked Kyle for money, he wasn't entirely sure how this would play out. Yes, Stan had borrowed money from his friend before. Yet, he had only borrowed dollars at a time for lunch and the like. This, though, was the first time he had every borrowed what could be classified, and was classified in their group, as a large sum of money. As Kyle wasn't exactly the frivolous type, he wasn't sure how painful he was gearing up to make this.

" Like how you ask your _parents _for money?" the Jew sneered, fanning his hands out in a stop motion for clarification. There was a touch of heat rolling over his flesh despite the eerie chill he felt within his mind. Assuming this to be the first rise of passionate argument in the last two weeks, Kyle ignored the contradictory emotions. He just relished the pleasure and continued forth in his attempt to goad out a fight, " Like, as in, 'I owe you', 'I pay you back', 'swear to god', that bullshit?"

" Please don't make a big deal outta it. I just. . ." the other interjected, giving a halfhearted shrug. He could feel the heat licking along the air. He felt that knowingly cold frost forming a shield to the redhead's notorious anger. As such, his responses were as flat as ever, " Used up my allowance already,"

" You know you still owe me twenty-five bucks from the school year, right?" Kyle casually reminded him, tapping a piece of chocolate on the counter. Stan let out an exaggerated sigh which never reflected itself within his tone nor his facial expressions. He tasted the heat and he ignored the bait. He knew exactly what Kyle was fishing for and he wasn't about to give it to him. After all, Stan knew better than pretty much anyone how antsy the Jew became when deprived a chance to scream; like he had been for the proceeding weeks. Thus, Stan rolled with the building embers and nodded absentmindedly.

" Yeah. And I'll pay you back. I just . . . need some money for tonight," he vaguely explained, motioning his hands to nothing in particular. Two emeralds shimmered with a burning desire to stick a pin in his throat to watch him bleed out or lash out or both. Instead of digging it in for the blood, Kyle smiled a coyly venomous smile as he unwrapped his selected candy.

" You sound like a drug addict. 'Yeah, I'll pay you back, I just need some more'," the Jew lightly jeered, placing the chocolate on his acid tongue. He chewed it as he smoothed open the wrapped to another. As though to sweeten his biting words, he spoke with his mouth full. Stan felt his hands clenching at his sides at this childish display, recalling the practice from their grade school days when Kyle used to be so gifted at riling him up, " I should charge you interest. Start running a bank here,"

Stan had to admit Kyle still had it. That deliciously sinful gift for inciting rage within even the deadest soul.

" Yeah, whatever. Look," the activist growled, desperately trying to even his tone. Gesturing offhandedly towards the bare thighs and jacketed torso of his charmingly deviant boyfriend, he leaned down close to the other. Kyle ate another piece of chocolate, his gaze peering up through his hair in good cheer. Taking a deep, iced breath, Stan managed to control the frost attempting to puncture his voice, " I promised I'd take Kenny on a date tonight, but I'm short on cash. Be a pal. Help me out. Please?"

The frost ate down the fire until the embers were smoldering, but restrained within the depths of those glowing, green orbs.

" Okay, okay. I was just messing with you. Don't be a pill," Kyle assured him, flicking his wrist dismissively at him. The Jew put another piece of sugar into his mouth, before he ducked out of sight briefly. He fumbled around in his personal bag, kept hidden behind the counter, and dug out his lime green wallet with the golden Star of David etched into the corner. From this, Kyle fished out thirty dollars and held it out to Stan. He held it tightly between his index and middle fingers in a fashion reminiscent of a certain Nazi, " You owe me,"

" I know, I know," Stan muttered, taking the money and slipping it into his back pocket. As he was opening his mouth to say something else, however, they both heard loud footsteps heading their way. Kenny leaned around one of the aisles, his parka swinging about his skinny frame. He grabbed hold of one of the shelves and thumbed back behind his glitter gleaming sapphires.

" Hey, Loverboy, you fuckin' comin' over here to gimme some goddamn help or what?" the poor boy shouted, his voice unbelievably loud in the confines of the tiny shop. The softest of smiles smoothed over Stan's formerly dead expression as he wiggled his fingers at the blond. Kenny beamed back at him, his smile wide and unrestrained.

" Yeah. Hang on," the activist called back. He turned back to regard the Jew who watched him with muted amused eyes. Taking two pieces of chocolate, Stan began to unwrap them quickly. He then tilted his head at Kyle, popping one of them into his mouth, " Thanks, dude,"

" You owe me for the candy too," he informed him as he ate two pieces at once. He pointed up at the aquamarine eyes watching him in a distracted sort of way, " Don't think I didn't notice,"

" Sure,"

With that, Stan gave a final wave and left from his place at the counter. He drifted over to where Kenny remained to aide in the search for appropriate liquor. Before they continued with their all important quest, though, Stan presented Kenny with his gift of milk chocolate. Much like a child would, Kenny clapped his hands and stuck out his tongue to be fed the treat. Stan was all too happy to oblige. Kenny bounced slightly on his heels as his boyfriend smiled a coldly warm smile down at him. Then, the blond gently snatched up the brunette's hand and lead him down the aisle towards his selections. They thus vanished from sight, leaving the now highly amused Kyle by his lonesome.

The minutes dragged on as they had before the arrival of the darling new couple. Kyle sat there, idly snacking on chocolate and looking over the pages of the catalog again. He was quite sure he would be able to recite it word for word by the time his shift was over with, yet it really was the only interesting thing around. As such, he noticed all the sounds of giggling and muffled voices floating up from the other side of the Liquor Stone. Smiling, he continued to read in his solitude, leaving them to their own world of happiness.

After a few minutes passed in this manner, the click of the door opening echoed out in the quiet. Kyle read on about how a bottle of wine was made versus another one on the same page. He noted that there was a customer was in the store, but he didn't bother with acknowledging them. Honestly, he wasn't sure how much he cared. Turning the page of his catalog, then, he didn't notice it when the footsteps headed up to the counter and came to a stop in front of him. There was a vague moment when Kyle zoned out entirely to the words on the page. This was the moment he heard that sugar sweet voice easing down his spine like the hot fingers of death.

" What's up, Kahl?"

The smoothness to the voice electrified Kyle as he jumped to the touch which never physically found his skin. He ripped his eyes away from the pages and found himself staring at the massive expanse of Cartman's stomach. Taking in the lovely bloodied splatter which made the graphic tee much more graphic, he ran his wide emeralds over the girth the Nazi had gained since they were little children. The fire uncurled furiously, exciting his blood into a flurry. His skin burned with the embers rising viciously to the surface after the activist had shut them down. Slowly, the Jew raised his heavy gaze from that belly up to that sweetly grinning face. Honey eyes watched him as his body was engulfed in a white heat of desperation to scream. Yet, Kyle sat still, awaiting the invitation as the ballroom for their fiery tango spread out beyond the reaches of their existence.

Cartman ate a piece of stolen chocolate, winking playfully down at him.

How deliciously subtle.

" What'd you want, fat boy?" Kyle snapped, grabbing his bag of candy and jerking it underneath the table. He allowed the heat to penetrate his words as the venom hardened his every motion. The Nazi was wholly unaffected, for his teasing grin remained poised on his face in the same manner. The fires pierced Kyle's mind with blinding light as his teeth gritted tight.

" It's a free country. I'm allowed to come see whoever I want for whatevah reason I so desire," he casually answered, leaning against the counter. When he leaned forward, Kyle found himself refusing to fall back against his chair. Rather, he stayed frozen in pulsing heat as their mouths hovered inches apart. The honey to those eyes was dark as the moonless night in their sweet delight. The intoxication was damning as Cartman whispered his tauntingly poisoned words, " Maybe I jus' wanted to see you, Kahl. Ever think of that?"

" And if I said I had?"

The fire to those words was obscene. The suggestion was ruthless, but he said them anyways as he felt compelled to do so. The light touch of haunting pleasure which flickered into those topaz orbs was frightening to the Jew. He wished to draw away, to resist. He didn't move as Cartman moved a fraction of an inch closer, closer to him, closer to his mouth, closer to the flames. When he spoke, however, he did not address the wickedly obvious admittance.

" I'd tell you to share," Cartman cooed innocently, his fingers moving through the heat to twirl about a shockingly red curl. His movements were painful in their jest. His touch, though, was anything but, as he caressed the tangles of blood, " You can't possibly eat all that by yourself,"

" I'm not planning on eating it all today. It's my stash for the whole week," Kyle idly told him in a low voice as he eased forward into the gentle twisting of his single lock of hair. The Nazi's smile then ensnared him, for it was a crescendo all its own. The rise and fall to their dance ceased momentarily as the inferno encased all the words spoken posthaste to the Jew's meek attempt at idle conversation.

" Won't you share some with me?"

The jolt of shocking fire which rushed through Kyle's mind was desperately infuriating in its wholly unforeseen implications. An invitation was to be expected, and he had been so entrenched in ember sugar as to answer, but this was too far, too fast. The tempo was startling as his hands were grabbed, as his body spun about in a glowingly scarlet dance floor lost beyond the times, to the hands of forever. His steps went unsurely as that man looked down at him, smiled at him a sweet smile tainted by the engorgement of intents impure. The struggle the Jew was so used to vanished as the music of the mayhem struck cord after cord to every rising word, rising the flames in a spiral which bore no sense of control. There was no stopping it, the inferno threatening their fragile existence described as it were.

Yet, Kyle resisted. He drew in a cold, shallow breath which licked along the back of his throat in a long, melting stroke. His eyes widened in their horror as the ice of the fire blanched his expression to a mute desire. He was presented a grin which touched his very mind with the grip that guided him through the waltz. He tried his best to return the previous jest to the conversation. He tried, where in he failed, and he knew he would fail as he lowered his eyes steadily to the rolling curve of his counterpart's waist.

" Trust me, Cartman, the last thing you need is more chocolate," Kyle tried for joking, but his voice fell short of the laughter needed to truly puncture the heat. Rather, his voice was flat, hollow, a shaking expression of the trembling running over his slender form. There was a bit of edge, of course, for he was desperate to throw off the fingertips of fire gracing his pale, flushed flesh. Yet, his attempt was the vainest of them all, as Cartman merely twirled that perilously held curl tighter about his finger. Every twist was a rush within the scared Jew staring in awful fear up into the depths of sugary death watching him so passionately.

" Don't be so cruel, Kahl. You're hurtin' my feelings," the Nazi answered evenly, his voice never matching the burning sensation turning within their fast held dance across the proverbial ballroom. Drawing those infamous curls closer, though, he tugged on his chosen lock and finally conceded to the tempo. The poison to his death sentence was beautiful in its luscious colors of the match as they smoothed delicately about Kyle's blood, " Not even a little taste?"

Such scorching sugar was a horrifying reveal of topaz and emerald ardor.

" You already had a taste," the Jew weakly protested, his hands raising up and gripping the wrist of the hand touching his curls. His fingers burned into the flesh in their tight grip, although there was nothing to be done to deter Eric now. He leaned into the treacherous pulse of heat and he moved so deliberately that Kyle was impressed into stillness. Thus, they were poised only a fragment of an inch from the other's mouth. Every breath was drawn together in the twisting twirling of the white hot waltz within the reaches of oblivion.

" I bet you taste just as good,"

Kyle tasted those sweet words as he eased open his mouth. He could almost taste those lips over his own, almost taste Eric in his sweetness so toxic. The inferno shattered as the music crashed into a halting tremor while their eyes met in the midst of the firestorm eating away reality. Instead of moving into the hands of blushing sweet sugar, the Jew allowed his shivers to overthrow the heat. He withdrew his hand from his deliciously wonderful dance partner with a tremendous amount of effort.

" I bet you'll never know," he whispered, slowly, drawing out every word in the same way in which he withdrew his lingering fingers. His head tilted to the side, away from the wrist he released suddenly, coldly. The fire between their worlds was too severe to ignore, yet he drew away step by hesitant step even as his eyes were drawn forward and into those topaz orbs, " Will you?"

For all the motions of avoidance he cast, the Jew was not capable of wholly pulling back. The embers infused in the shivers of his blood and his hand moved from its cast away position at his side. He bit down on his lips, to suppress the words dancing harder, faster, hotter with every single second he stood there, refusing to speak. His body spoke for him, in all of the hardness to his eternally burning eyes of cut jewels to the softness of his caressing hand which found Eric within the revel of fire. His fingertips rested on the curve of his counterpart's stomach, feeling the fabric of such a graphically loud shirt in the mutest of manners. The touch of those eyes on his face, however, moved his fingers up. He touched along the arch to that girth, to the chest where that heart pulsed, to the throat which spoke the melted sugar words that overthrew his mind in a white hot flurry. A cry built within his mouth, touched his tongue, and Kyle nearly collapsed into the fire as he tried to repress it. He did all that he could as he pressed his palm to the hollow of Eric's throat, his thumb against his neck, his fingers gracing the silk of his lovely hair. Into those eyes, he gazed, ensnared, trapped, and captured by the light of heaven in them. Fear, however, caused Kyle to ease that beautiful godsend of a Nazi backwards a fraction of an inch.

When the Jew spoke, he broke the dance and swallowed the heat.

" Now what's the real reason you're here?"

The look which quickly overthrew that previously sweet gaze was a hard, murderous stare of darkly honey eyes. Cartman frowned venomously while he allowed his hand to drop away from those bloodied locks. Kyle felt a stabbing jolt deep within as soon as his curl bounced back into his cheek. Churning in utter discomfort at the shocking cold, then, he removed his quivering hand from his rival's throat. His fingers slowly fell away, his hand turning so he might run his knuckles over that bulging middle. Then his hand touched the counter and the frost there bit into his fingers. The heat was fully removed when Cartman stood back to his full over six foot height in vile boredom unbefitting him.

" Well, you're in no mood," the Nazi muttered vaguely, casting a penetrating gaze elsewhere as if he couldn't bear to look at the Jew. Rolling his eyes in that professional arch, however, he returned his stare to the idly shaking Kyle. He gave an absentmindedly shrug before thumbing off towards the aisles of liquor to the side. When he spoke, he managed to gather his voice into a normal, rolling accent that never alluded to their previous dance, " I got twenty bucks. What can I get?"

" Nothing," Kyle curtly responded, his timbre short and stern. The fire within was compressed into a tight, little ball of licking flames. He suppressed it until he could speak plainly, as which time he narrowed his green eyes up at the frustrated looking Nazi to whom he owed years of headaches and screaming matches.

" What?"

" You're fifteen. You can't legally drink," he calmly informed him without the slightest touch of humor. Cartman gave a halting laugh, flitting his wrist in the other's direction. He was very good at looking completely unaffected. Years of knowing him, though, enabled Kyle to see the marks of agitation. Namely, in the manner in which he addressed him.

" I know that, stupid. That's why I'm asking _you _what I can get," Cartman sneered, pointing at Kyle's empty face. There was a touch of true anger to what he said. Still, his expression was of the jesting nature. He was ready to believe this was some extended game of push and shove, even when they both knew it wasn't. The redhead could already sense that about the nature to the brunette's words. Nevertheless, he played along for a second longer.

" And the answer is: nothing!" the Jew playfully exclaimed, making an face and everything for full effect. Cartman ignored him by acknowledging the gesture with a hand one of his very own. Kyle merely ate a piece of chocolate as he motioned to the vast expanse of the other's waistline, " Why don't you go buy a pack of cigarettes? I hear smoking kills your appetite,"

The both of them presented fake smiles to the other at that sediment. Slowly, though, Kyle unwrapped another piece of candy and placed it on his tongue. His rival gave him a new glare of darker intentions, watching his every move with precision. With the smallest hint at a sly grin, Cartman leaned back against the counter, pressing his hands down on its top. The appeal was impressive, for his size truly dominated the Jew's entire line of sight. Having no choice, and no unwillingness towards doing so, he poised his shimmering emeralds on those sugar sweet orbs leering down at him.

" Maybe you should give it a try too, then," the Nazi suggested, his smile overtaking the serious mention to his words. There was a certain flare within the Jew which sparked his blood and drew a growl from the depths of his throat. For all his attempts to reign in and restrain his fire, he felt it rushing through his veins with burning vengeance.

" And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Kyle spat out, slamming his fists down onto the countertop hard enough to rattle the catalogs scattered about it. Cartman snickered under his breath, his head shaking idly while the redhead ate another piece; mostly out of spite.

" Oh, nothin'. Jus'. . ." Cartman cooed, rolling his hand over in the air in the direction of Kyle's lower half. When the honey of his eyes smoothed over his legs, all the cooing curled itself into a twirling spiral of embers. The smoldering heat washed over Kyle's flesh unexpectedly as he was handed a precise and poised invitation which needed an answer. Every word thus spoken was spoken to the pulsing flames trapped in his racing heart, " You know,"

The taste of sweetness on the Jew's tongue could never match that which touched his flesh. He slowly, thoughtfully, chewed the chocolate. There was a moment when he considered shrieking at the obviously placed insult, the subtly coy request to continue their devilishly wonderful waltz. Then, without his consent, his hands were moving his hair back. Those curls fluffed and jumped excitedly as he rose to his feet. The sudden increase in height hindered the intimidation of Cartman's position in the same way it rendered their previous engagement familiar. Their mouths hovered only a breath apart. The encasing fire swept back Kyle's inhibitions as he was lost to the whims of his own delusions of the stretch of gilded heaven. His hands were caught up and he was stepping lightly over the burning floors for one more waltz in the spiraling control of the tempo of before. He couldn't bring himself to resist this man's charm. Those topazes hurt in ways he couldn't imagine in the impassioned scorch of his soul as he surrendered once more to the invitation wholeheartedly.

" No, I don't know," Kyle whispered, removing a piece of chocolate from the bag held in one hand. He unwrapped it with purposeful slowness, before holding its melting goodness in his hand. Gazing up into the hungry, expectant eyes, he took another inch, gathered himself another fraction as his head tilted, " Why don't you explain it to me?"

Tauntingly, grinning through the damning flames, Kyle pushed the chocolate into Eric's mouth. His fingertips lingered on those tender lips before he withdrew them with a steady motion. The music slammed into the swirls of flame as he declined the inch. The space between them grew as the Jew carefully took his seat with a castaway smile directed at the dance partner gracefully bowing him to his place of resign. His counterpart grinned at him, eating the offered sweet. The fire ran its burning touch about the redhead's flesh, yet he continued to shake off the white out with an upturned sneer at the other.

" Ooooh, you're bad. Very, very bad," he breathed out, moving one hand from the counter with a single sweep. He gave the Jew's cheek a tiny, flirty pinch with the gentlest touch ever permitted by the hands of the Lord in all of the known universe. There was a jolt which jerked through the blood, the flesh, the soul of Kyle in that slight notion of the emotion beginning to surface in those sugar sweet eyes. Worse, still, were the condemning words of that man with his topaz jewels and intoxication. They trickled over Kyle's skin like a long forgotten whispered word of longing, " But I like that about you, Kahl. I always have,"

Captivated by those words, Kyle tilted his cheek into Eric's hand. The smile he gave him was a precious rarity in its honest affection. Yet, he felt the rising of the embers inside his pounding heart. As before, he resisted the enthralling appeal to this Nazi even as his smile retained its warmth.

" Go away, Cartman," Kyle airily stated, moving his cheek from the soft touch of the other. He moved his gaze from the disapproval shown to grab up the candy bag he continued to hide under the counter. This time, though, he dropped it onto the countertop. In a true gesture of goodwill, he pushed it over to Cartman with a slight head inclination to suggest he take what he wanted. The Nazi didn't confirm the offer verbally. He just took a piece and ate it as he shook his head in the Jew's direction.

" Not until you lemme buy some booze," Cartman told him, successfully removing all remaining heat from the conversation. Kyle allowed the withdraw. Frightened as he was by the allusion, he retreated into the confines of a casual argument quickly. Thus, he wagged his finger at that full face.

" The answer's no. The last thing you need is booze in your system. You liquored up is a scary thing," he reminded him coldly, tapping his fingers on the open pages of the catalog in front of him. Cartman merely snickered at the reminder, putting one hand on his hip like the diva he certainly could behave as. The Nazi puckered his lips mockingly, popping them like he did when he was sucking on lollipops and torturing whomever didn't have one. Somehow, doing so made Kyle immediately envious in a stroke of fire.

" Then I guess I'm not leavin' any time soon," the brunette jeered, holding his hands out at his wide sides. There was a flex of the fire stretching within Kyle's stomach. He felt his blood shivering as he inhaled sharply. Sensing the fall of the tempo coming upon him, the Jew hissed out the only threat he thought might actually win him a moment of freedom from the dance. He needed time to breathe, he could feel that, or else. He didn't even know what might happen should he be ensnared by the sugar again.

He might just say it. But no. He couldn't. He couldn't say it.

" Oh, you're leaving. If I have to call the police to get you to do it," Kyle said instead, jabbing a finger at the door. He knew the threat was an empty shell of a real threat. He also knew that Cartman knew it too. Regardless, the Nazi held up his palms in a form of nonchalant surrender.

" Whatevah you say, Kahl. Whatevah you say,"

" Here," the Jew picked up the bag of chocolate and casually handed the whole thing to Cartman. Presenting him with a quizzical look, the Nazi nevertheless accepted the bag. The heaviness to that gaze made the flames uncurl another few inches, adding to the heat of the already bubbling blood. Taking in a hot breath that burned his throat, Kyle inclined his head towards the candy, " Consider it a consolation prize. Go nuts,"

" I'd rather have booze," the other curtly stated without a hint of anger to his whole persona. The deviant touch to the smile which eased over Kyle's lips was as perverse as it was uncontrollable. Possessed from his mouth came words of an invitation towards the fire jumping to grab at his self restraint. His words pooled from his tainted tongue in burning turns of the screw within his white hot mind. The entrapment stole his body so profoundly, even Cartman appeared to be surprised.

" I'd argue that," he began as his timbre dropped down into the whispers of seduction. The embers trickling through those words were smoldering in their repressed heat. In their sudden revel, they did not tread gingerly. They snatched up the hands of their counterpart and engulfed him with the flames of courtship in their smooth lines of harshly warm breathes, " I think you'd rather have the chocolate,"

A present of the most delicious smile was granted in favor of the invitation. Eric moved in closer so that his cheek brushed lightly against Kyle's. A hand moved to touch the curls, twisting them about his fingertips until his fingers were deeply tangled within the bloody mess. Only then did he pull on them with the lightest, hottest touch. He used those curls to guide the Jew's head to the side, into the embrace of his hand caught up in the silk curls. To him, only him, Eric whispered his admittance in the chosen manner. His words were sugar in their sweetness, fire in their fierceness, but never mind. They were beautiful when they gripped Kyle from his stunned emeralds to his desperate soul.

" Maybe I'd rather have you,"

The words stayed poised in the air, forever, as Eric withdrew his fingers from those curls. He smoothed his fingers over the burning cheek of the Jew in deliberate motions. Then, grinning in his usually jeering manner of heated implications, he patted Kyle's cheek. He once more drew up to his full height, leaving Kyle sinking, stunned, into the back of his chair.

" I'll be back. You can count on that, Jew,"

With that assurance, Cartman tilted his head in regards to the shell shocked Jew and turned on his heel. Waving over his shoulder, he left the Liquor Stone with his consolation prize in tow. The sounds of his boots on the tile echoed out before the door shut behind him and he was gone. The exit was as abrupt as the entrance, yet didn't relieve the pressure of the lingering touch of the flames. Shaking in their fading absence, however, Kyle slumped forward so that his forehead was pressed firmly into the countertop. He gripped his arms, desperate to stop the smile which continually attempted to push aside the horror dripping down his spine in thick streaks.

For several moments, Kyle was unsuccessful. The still of the store, though, allowed him to finally calm himself enough to gather his scattered composure. He thus fell to taking slow, even breaths as he listened to the hum of the coolers and the infrequent mummer that reminded him that he wasn't entirely alone yet. Within a few moments, he then resolved to listening to two sets of footsteps approaching the counter and schoolgirl giggling echoing out in the quiet. There was a clink of liquor bottles on the counter. Slowly, Kyle looked up and got a glimpse of the smiling faces of the arm in arm duo, Stan and Kenny. Stan's smile was mildly apologetic whereas Kenny's was ecstatically pure.

" Here, dude, " the activist greeted him, waving one hand to the side. He then motioned to the array of hard and soft liquor ranging from a bottle of cheap wine to gold tequila, " We'd like to get these,"

" We're gonna get torn up an' FUCKED up!" the pervert declared, pumping his fist in the air with great enthusiasm for the idea. Stan cast his boyfriend a longingly sweet half smile which never reached his eyes, which were, nevertheless, glowing in the light of their union a few days ago. Kyle, however, just stared up at the couple with a muted bored expression. He couldn't rid his voice fast enough of the sarcasm to his emeralds, no matter how he tried, which, admittedly, wasn't rather hard.

" That's _fantastic,_" he sneered, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Doing so required more energy then he wanted to use, but it was necessary to ring up the liquor. Groaning, the Jew began to swipe all the pretty glass bottles. After bagging them and everything, he pushed the total button on his register and read the final price tag out to his best friend, " Total comes to twenty four thirty six,"

" Pay the man, Stan," Kenny happily ordered as he gathered up the bags full of the liquor meant mostly for him. He grabbed it all up and then twisted about in his dirty sneakers. He swept on out the door with a snickering laugh of joyous intention for later that evening, although his glance backwards at the backside of his boyfriend inclined those intentions more towards the bedroom then the bottle. Stan smiled as he observed this display of loving lust before he weakly held out the thirty dollars the Jew had just given him. Kyle didn't need clarification for the action, though he asked for it anyways.

" Lemme guess, you need to borrow more money,"

" Kinda, yeah,"

" Don't let this become a regular habit, Stan," the Jew warned, giving him a decidedly indifferent look. Still, he took out his wallet from his hidden bag. Again, he fished out another thirty dollars and again, he held it out in the same manner that the Nazi held out money; between his index and middle fingers, " Keep it up and you're gonna become a mooch. And you _know _what happens to mooches in South Park,"

" Yeah, I know," Stan absentmindedly nodded without a trace of concern to his voice nor to his appearance. Kyle arched an eyebrow at him while a cruel smile unfolded over his lips.

" Don't let Cartman find out," Kyle plainly stated. His statement was acknowledged with a somber nod on the part of the activist. As the Jew was opening his mouth to remind him of what could happen should that certain Nazi discover it, Stan cut up short with his usual halting manner of speaking.

" Yeah," he shortly expressed, his eyes averting the cold gaze of the Jew. Shrugging, he returned his aquamarine eyes to those of emerald to take the money. He pocketed it with a offhanded gesture in the way which Kenny had gone, " But it's hard to say no to him,"

" Aw. Puppy love," the Jew cooed mockingly, faking pouty lips and eyes. Grinning, Kyle reached over the counter and patted his friend teasingly on the shoulder to a classic eye roll of frustrated annoyance in all the subtlety usually associated with the activist, " He's going to eat you alive,"

To that, there was only one response Stan could offer. He gave a defeated sigh, a solemn nod, an absentminded shrug, and a gentle smile all within seconds of one another. Kyle couldn't help but smile at the truly love struck glow to those normally empty eyes of the honestly happy Stan Marsh. For that and only that, Kyle said not another word concerning the two's relationship. He just nodded as the activist waved halfhearted and started for the door. A step or two later, though, he glanced back, his eyebrows arching and a hand pointing at the counter in what might have been mild interest.

" Hey, where'd your chocolate go?"

Kyle looked at him with a visual attempt at begging him not to ask. Slowly, though, his emerald gaze lowered to the counter covered in catalogs. There was a moment of flashback, where in he relived the inferno waltz around and around the sugar words of the Nazi who haunted him. Every thought brought a rush to his body in a gripping of the aftermath. A flush moved over his cheek as his fingers clenched and his body shivered from loose curls to toes.

" Let's just say . . .it went to a good cause," he barely breathed out, addressing the counter as he did so. In the most deliberate of manners, he peered up at the bewildered, yet stunned, face of the brunette. Stan watched him shiver, watched him grip his arms, watched him smile that perverse smile of eternal delight, and he knew better then to broach the subject. He might have even known to whom that smile was reserved after all these years.

" Uh. . .okay. . .Bye," Stan finally muttered, waving yet again before he finally left the store. Kyle leaned against the back of his chair as he heard a loud exclamation outside. Through the sliver of glass not blocked by signs and posters, he saw the happy couple embrace as they headed off towards their version of suburban pleasure.

Left alone to his own devices, Kyle fell to looking at the catalog for more prices on wine. A few minutes had to pass before the shaking eventually melted down to nothing and he was able to fully feel calm. Either way, he firmly decided that the moment Bubba returned from the bait shop, he was going to launch a plan to get out of the Liquor Stone early. The last thing Kyle Broflovski wanted was to be sitting behind that counter when Eric Cartman fulfilled his promise and returned. If he saw him again, if he was reintroduced to those flames again, he just didn't know what would happen.

* * *

Walking home from the Liquor Stone at ten in the evening, Kyle felt both thrilled and nervous. Thrilled, of course, for having succeeded at scraping two hours off his prison sentence to that particular night's enslavement. Nervous, though, for it was ten at night and he was walking on the edge of a dirt road near a lake where a bunch of rednecks drank until they were too drunk to remember not to get back into those trucks. Thus, he walked briskly and quickly over the dirt road, frequently checking for speeding trucks weaving all over said road. Every time he heard a car driving by, Kyle felt his heart skip and his body plunge into the icy cold chill of upcoming death. Deciding this not to be worth it, he vaguely wondered how badly he would have to complain to be allowed to drive his mother's car out to the store.

Figuring it to be worth it no matter how much of a protest it would be, Kyle stepped onto the sidewalk of the main stretch of houses on which he lived. His last fleeting thought concerned his hours at his job, and desire to shift them around some more. Then, he was faced with the one person he had hoped to avoid by leaving early. Instead of ducking to the other side of the street, though, the Jew continued walking down that particular side as he saw that Nazi heading towards him. Cartman spotted him in the dim light of the street lights and he waved once he did. They strolled up to one another until they stopped less then a foot apart just outside the outer ring of a lamp.

Kyle was forced to look nearly a foot upwards to meet the gaze of the other. Cartman was dressed up for a night either out on the downtown scene or the red light corner, depending on how one took his outfit. Since he was wearing a lovely blood red dress that sparkled whenever he shifted his hips and a cropped leather jacket, he certainly looked the part of either role. The heels on his feet, however, indicated a whole other purpose. They were three inch high stilettos that spoke of a pretty, lost child looking for love in all the wrong places. Tapping those toes, painted such a pretty black, Cartman grinned happily down at the Jew which continued to stare at those shoes. He wasn't at all surprised to see the Nazi in such a get up, for Cartman was a renown drag queen who, for all intents and purposes, dressed much better than any of the actual women in town. However, those shoes, they captivated Kyle for a reason beyond his realm of comprehension.

" Nice shoes," the Jew lightly said, pointing down at them. Cartman's smile grew that much more pleased as he shifted his weight and tilted one shoe to the side so that its heel could be seen. A flare of fire burst through Kyle's blood in a shocking jolt that had nothing to do with the words being spoken. For the moment, the actions alone were enough to draw the flames to the surface.

" Thanks. They're new,"

" Are they red? I can't tell," Kyle muttered, grabbing hold of the other's wrist with both his hands. He tugged the Nazi back a few feet into the circle of light pooling down from the streetlight. Looking down, he saw that they were the same shimmering red of the dress his counterpart was dolled up in. A gentle smile found its way over the redhead's mouth, " Oh, they're lovely,"

" Duh. They're mine. I have good taste," Cartman arrogantly stated, grinning and running a hand through his flyaway, yet still perfectly in place, hair. Kyle felt his eyes rolling long before he even realized he didn't remember doing so. Nevertheless, he frowned momentarily.

" Your modesty is breathtaking," Kyle mumbled, his eyes turning away in the sheer frustration of the statement. He released the Nazi's wrist, letting his hands fall away to his sides in distaste while his gaze moved back to the other. Cartman continued to grin, completely unaffected. Instead, he pointed at Kyle in mild amusement.

" Shouldn't you be at work?" he asked as if he already knew the answer to the question. The Jew responded much in the same way, even mimicking the pointing gesture at that made up face with black shadow and red gloss.

" Shouldn't you be in bed?"

" It's ten," Cartman replied blandly, glancing at his wrist even though neither of them ever wore a watch. The habit was innate for the freaky four, however, so Kyle wasn't at all surprised. Rather, he shrugged and shifted his bag from one shoulder to the next. The shimmer of that dress was nearly distracting him, for the fires were licking along the base of his skull in a mutely teasing fashion.

" Yeah, but I figured you'd be in bed, eating your weight in candy and reading comic books," the Jew jeered, jabbing a finger at the weight of his rival's formidable frame. His attempt to remain within the confines of a casual conversation fell on deaf ears. Cartman merely gave a halting laugh, covering his lips in a mock feminine way. The sugar of those darkly honey eyes was stunning in their poison. More so, in their ability to sparkle without the light of the day. Moonless night that it was, Kyle felt himself drawn into their shine, his fires eating through his resist. It seemed, though, that Cartman had intended from the start to pick up where they had left off.

" Oh, no, Kahl. It's time to party. I can eat my weight in sweet chocolate some other time. But, for now," he paused in the flush heat of the moment, his smile drawing closer the more he leaned down. Slowly, gently, he tilted Kyle's head up by the chin with a solitary finger. There was a moment, one pulsing thrust of a moment, when the Jew believed he would kiss him, just once. He even drew in the tainted breath in expectation, staring into those eyes, " I'm goin' to do what I do best,"

" Which is?"

The words rolled off his tongue in a burning sensation that felt so wonderful to utter. He extended his hand, his gloved hand with the emerald stone embroider, to the man with topaz eyes in hopes he would accept the dance invitation. The way Eric leaned over him, closer still, his lips a breath away, he believed he would take him to the dance floor for an inferno. Beyond his mind's eye, however, he saw that man bowing down with a faint, somber shake of his head. The cold shock of the turn away was the most heartbreaking notion of them all. The way in which Eric told him so, though, was somehow worse.

" Makin' people want what they can't have,"

" You're very good at that," the Jew breathed out in a constricted throat burning with the kiss he didn't get. His body shivered as his hands moved up to grip his upper arms in an impassioned embrace. Deliberately, he nodded and moved his head away while Cartman leaned away from him steadily. Regardless, the Nazi grinned through the roaring fires of rejection and winked that playful way.

" Don't worry, Kahl. I'll always save the last dance for you," Cartman promised, reaching over and running a finger over his tossed about curls. Kyle smacked his hand back in vain, for he continued to stroke his bloody hair. Licking his scorching lips so vile, the Jew gazed up at that pretty face with a hot stare of emeralds cut from the hardest stone.

" Who says I'll be waiting?" he questioned in a voice which fell dramatically away from his own. He felt the fire jerking away to leave him with a wholly new sensation he had only felt one time before. Then, he had been a child and he had been exposed to such a empty burning without restraint. Then, he did his best to close his mouth and turn away. As he had then, he was possessed in the worse ways. Every emotion left his face in slow intervals while Cartman grinned and tugged on his hair. The shadows prevented him from seeing the blank look of death which crossed the Jew's fair features.

" I guess we'll jus' have to wait and see, won't we?" the Nazi calmly said, his eyes warm with the question he wasn't asking. Kyle vaguely nodded, his mind falling away to the empty heat which swirled about his hands, his eyes, his words. In a stroke of fire, his emeralds dropped down to his innocently smiling rival's waist. In a scorching explosion that utterly washed away all control, he was wholly possessed and the words came from another world entirely. He had never meant to say them as his hand raised to point at that weight while his accusation spilled from his poisoned tongue.

" How much do you weigh?"

" What?" Cartman sternly demanded, his eyes darkening in a hurry as his hand jerked back as if struck physically. His tone was strict enough to usually warrant a quick apology and retreat. With the new mindset, though, Kyle found himself looking up into those callous eyes without an emotion to his entire form outside of the dull ache in his chest.

" How much do you weigh?" he repeated plainly, his hand falling away. It became painfully obvious that Cartman was taken back by the question, for the rage normally reserved for others crossed into his topaz orbs and into his words. Nothing, though, could shake the lingering pulse of agonizing fire which had so fiercely taken hold of the Jew.

" Uh, yeah, that's really none of your business, you good for nothin' Jew," the Nazi barked, crossing his arms over his curved stomach. Kyle felt his eyes widen in their possession as he actually moved in closer to the creature that looked ready to strike him to the ground.

" No, really, I want to know. How much do you weigh?" he asked in a detached voice as his eyes expanded in what he could only assume was one of his wildest looks. The darkness to those orbs grew sharper as Cartman took several steps away from the approaching Jew. Rather, he slipped out the circle of light, rubbing his cherry red nails over the sleeves of his leather jacket. Dismissively, he waved Kyle off while he headed around him.

" Fuck off,"

There was not a touch of jest in those words whatsoever.

" You should consider a diet. For your own good," Kyle airily expressed, turning after him and watching as the Nazi stopped walking. Cartman twisted to face the Jew with not an emotion on his face other than the sugar death in his icy honey stare. Kyle cast him a forlorn look which was as painful to give as to receive. Slowly, though, the hurt cut through the heat as the Jew gripped his shirt in an offhanded attempt to gather control back. All he was given in return was a hateful look of distain and a curt statement alluding to their lovely afternoon waltz.

" You sure know how to kill a good time,"

" Just be careful, Eric,"

His voice hinted at his true feelings as he turned away and walked deliberately away from the topaz gaze watching him leave. Kyle merely hugged himself in the cold return of his body, heading home in the darkest hour of the evening so far. Behind him, he heard the somber, lonely clicks of heels heading steadily in the opposing direction. The sound was agonizingly cold.


	7. Out and About

The Kentucky Fried Chicken in South Park was about a five minute drive away from the suburban hell in which most of the town lived in. It was in the opposite direction of the Liquor Stone, however, and was near the stretch of stores that made up the main street of the small mountain town. Most people who went out there went the normal route: walking down all the sidewalks and hitting the main street to follow it around the town square to the edge of the stucco faced buildings to the isolated fast food shop. The outsider children, though, went the route they went for everything; against the grain. They knew of a shorter, more 'scenic' path that cut out most of the walking down on the main streets. They took the sidewalks to the end of the little houses, then cut to the side and wandered down a flattened pathway through 'the woods', which dropped off pretty much near the middle of town. This was the path the freaky four had constructed in their youth when they grew utterly fed up with walking the whole round about way to go see movies, get ice cream, rob a store, and so on.

This was the path the freaky four took every time they needed to head out to the town for anything. Although it had been forged by the four, mainly Cartman, it was frequently used by only two of them nowadays. Kyle didn't have time to be running down to town to see the latest remade flick with his job messing around with his schedule the way they had been; they had found out the hard way that Kyle Broflovski had a raging temper and now, they only booked him to work when there were sure to be no customers. Cartman was normally the one who was seen walking up and down the side path in the middle of nowhere, his honey eyes staring blankly at the treetops in deranged thought. Every since this summer had extended its fiery grips upon South Park, though, he had all but disappeared. He wasn't in town, that much was for sure, as he was never spotted coming or going from any of his favorite hangouts; namely the KFC, movies, or game store. Where he was, however, was debatable, as Cartman was second best at vanishing acts. The only person any better at it than him was Kenny McCormick. Thus, with Kyle locked up in the lobby of the Liquor Stone, seething, and Cartman playing hide and seek with society, the wooded road was left to the new couple, Stan and Kenny.

The first week of June, they used it to make their way out to the KFC. Stan had slipped through the rotten wasteland of McCormick hell to snatch his tired, yawning boyfriend away for some well deserved breakfast. Despite the vacant stares of the other children of the same cloth as the blond, they had left alone. The walk had been rather quiet, as Kenny was still shaking off a late evening from the night before. Stan, on the other hand, had merely been excited at the prospects of another date with the lovely, little pervert. As they had been officially dating for nearly a dozen days, they had also been on nearly a dozen dates. Nearly a dozen for the simple fact that Kenny had pulled out his bag of tricks and completely disappeared two nights out of the set.

Standing in the waiting area of KFC, Stan glanced over at where Kenny was waiting in the long line. The blond was dressed in his pajamas, which consisted of worn out cotton shorts and a semi tight shirt with the words 'Gag Me Bitch' over the faded image of a bondage style whore, and a scuffed pair of leather hiking boots. As usual, his orange jacket was on, although he had left it unzipped. The hood of it rested lightly on his uncombed and unwashed hair. His sapphires glared venomously at nothing in particular as he rubbed his dirt smeared hands together. There was glitter on his knuckles and the remaining smears of eyeliner over his pale cheeks.

As he had three days ago, the evening before, Ken had phoned Stan around nine at night. He whispered into the phone in his mildly Southern voice his apologies for having to skip out on coming over for a late night of cuddling. He didn't say where it was he was going. All he said was that he wasn't going out with Cartman and he would see him sometime in the morning 'when it was over'. Then the line had gone dead and Stan had been left staring at his phone while it blinked and faded out to black. The first time, he had been mutely furious. He had cussed and tossed his phone down to cover his jet black hair with the covers. The second time, he hadn't been nearly as dramatic. The activist had merely flipped his phone shut and laid back against the sheets in order to fall asleep. When sleep didn't come, he had called Kyle to complain, to which end, he was screamed at by a raging Jew who had sworn in language so colorful, Stan had, for a second, believed he was on the line with his missing in action boyfriend. Then that line was dead and he had considered calling Cartman to see what the Nazi's reaction would be. He had played with the idea, finally deciding to give it a try. However, Cartman's cell phone had rung and rung before switching to Gaga and Beyonce's 'Telephone'. If Cartman were home, he wasn't picking up.

To be honest, Stan had been horrified.

For one split second, his body had been drowned in a white wash of ice. If Cartman wasn't picking up, if he wasn't at home, if Kenny wasn't picking up, if he wasn't at home, what was to say they weren't _together_?

Before he had really entertained the sickening thought, though, Stan's phone had shivered with the chorus line from 'Poker Face' and he was flipping open the small, thin thing in a frozen mindless action. His ear had been assaulted by the wholly accented voice of Eric Cartman in the most dramatic sense of the word. He heard Cartman talking on and on, his voice a decadent lush of mild intoxication, but he never heard a word. All he heard was that the Nazi didn't sound like he was in his 'right state' and if he wasn't in that, he sure as hell wasn't with Kenny. As good as friends as they were, everyone in South Park knew that Cartman and Kenny didn't mix their liquors with one another. The outcomes were never pretty, even by their own deluded standards. If Cartman had drunk dialed Stan back to bitch in his queenly manner, then he certainly wasn't out with the poor boy. Thus, the activist had been left listening to the Nazi for a minute longer, before a final 'whatevah' was mumbled, an 'aw hamburgers Eric' was uttered, and the line was, yet again, dead. Stan had cradled the phone next to his head throughout the evening, his empty orbs staring a hole in his midnight walls.

When morning had come up, creeping, he had dragged his aching body from the warmth of the sheets. He had crawled out to the McCormick hell, banged his way over to his lover's bedroom, and found Kenny passed out, face down, on the floor. He hadn't been with Cartman. Stan knew that. He didn't know where he had been, but he hadn't been with the heavy set boy. That was what mattered.

Almost out of celebration, Stan had suggested they go to KFC.

Now, he stood there, in his ink stained jeans, and a weathered shirt with holes in the sides by the seams, and he watched his boyfriend yawn into his knuckles. Stan felt his mouth pulling back into a brief, though loving, smile. As far as he was concerned, as long as Kenny was still breathing, and not spending his nights with a certain someone, then all was good. After all, he couldn't say he didn't already know what Kenny's profession was. He knew how he earned what little money he carried in that dirty jacket of his. Thus, Stan rolled his eyes in a castaway action as he pulled out his cell phone.

He had one text from 'Pokah Face', which simply read 'sorry 4 last nite thought u were some1 else heart EC'. Although the apology was in itself shocking, Stan didn't feel anything remotely resembling shock within. He knew he should, as Cartman never apologized for anything. Yet, when the activist reflected on it, he merely felt a cold center within which alluded to many things he wasn't even sure about. Knowing he shouldn't, he ignored it. He sent back a heartless statement of 'ok' before he switched from texting to talking. Without thinking about it, he called the one person he knew he could talk to. He didn't know why he felt the need to talk to someone. A chill was trickling into his blood from the text. He needed to talk. Swallowing down all the words etching out of the frost, however, he redirected himself towards the matter at hand as that softly harsh word spiraled out into the air between the world of the KFC and South Park suburbia.

" Hello?" Kyle drawled out in a thick timbre that spoke volumes to his condition. There was a touch of heat which burned away the lingering ice in the activist's spine. Feeling that cold ease back was enough for Stan to relax the shoulders he had tightened without his knowledge. A light sigh left his lips as he heard his friend groan into something that muffled his voice; more than likely a pillow or the sheets.

" Hey, dude. What's up?" he answered with a bit of optimism. There was no particular reason for it. He knew that the Jew was not nearly awake, and that talking to him like that was asking for a good thrashing. Still, he asked in what would qualify as a happy tone for him. In all actuality, the tone was as flat as it ever was. The point didn't appear to be missed, however, as Kyle's next word was spoken with something close to annoyance.

" Stan?"

" Yeah,"

" What the hell do you want?" Kyle snarled darkly through the muffle. After having been such good friends with the hothead for so long, Stan wasn't even remotely phased. He glanced around the lobby aimlessly as he listened to the biting words. There wasn't even a flicker of emotion within.

" You told me to call you in the morning to make sure you got home okay," the activist reminded him as a matter of fact. The crowd of people within the fast food joint shifted around him. Turning his head, he shrugged, despite knowing that those emeralds couldn't take in the apathetic gesture of nonchalance. He merely stated the facts that had been screamed at him the evening before in a white hot rage that hadn't been directed at him, " Said you had to do inventory and were gonna be there till one or two,"

" Oh. Right. Yeah, I made it home okay," the Jew mumbled groggily into the receiver before he gave a yawn. Stan drew the phone away in order to cast it the quizzical look he normally would have tossed towards Kyle himself. Then, hesitantly, he placed the thing against his ear. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard the redhead yawn into the phone. Especially not since he knew Kyle thought the action to be rude.

" You okay?"

" You just said I was there until two, Stan. I'm tired," came the curt response right in his ear. There was a touch of frustration that was usually reserved for others in those few short words. However, Stan merely shrugged it away as he usually did whenever he caught a bit of those internal flames. Somehow, he knew they weren't intended for him. He knew who they were meant for. Even if he wasn't going to mention it.

" Yeah, okay. Right," Stan muttered dismissively. His head physically turned away from the conversation as his eyes found his boyfriend. There was a vague wondering hanging about his head for how much longer he would have to wait to be together with the hopelessly adorable pervert. As far as the activist could see, it was going to be a moment longer, for the blond stood two people back in line. As depressing as that was, however, Stan felt his mouth move into a rare smile. Kenny was fussing with his jacket strings and hair interchangeably, his dirty fingers twisting and twirling everything about his knuckles. His nose scrunched up every time he got a finger stuck. During one of the fitfully cute motions of freeing a digit, those sapphires caught those aquamarine gems looking. Kenny gave a smile of his own as he wiggled his fingers in the other's direction. Stan returned the gesture as he returned to the conversation absentmindedly, " Sorry. I don't know what time it is,"

" Hmm-mm,"

There was a tired yawn quickly following the utterance. Hearing it, Stan couldn't help but take the impression that Kyle was fast falling to sleep on him. The thought alone made him want to laugh, simply for how out of character it was. Nevertheless, his face remained blank as he joked around for the sake of waking the exhausted Jew up. There was really no reason to it. He just liked the idea of being so cruel.

" Do you want me to pick you up anything from KFC?" Stan teased in a voice that never officially reached the joking timbre of most people. He heard Kyle snort into the phone at the very idea. Chuckling, the activist listened to the almost physical rejection of the notion. He could very well see his best friend rolling his eyes and sitting up in the mild, though unwarranted, agitation.

" Dude, it is ten in the morning. I don't want fried chicken," Kyle answered with a warmth to his voice that most would have taken for anger. It honestly was, but Stan just liked the way the heat warmed over the ice in his blood. Chuckling, he listened to the Jew sigh dismissively. He saw the way his hand flitted to the side in gesture, " Call Cartman. I'm sure he does,"

" Hell no. I don't have enough money for Kenny _and _Cartman," the activist responded with conviction. There was a chill which overtook his flesh from nowhere. The lightness to the cold, however, made it easy to ignore the unsettling sensation to return his whole attention to that softly vicious tone floating into his ear.

" Make it sound like Kenny's eats a lot," the sediment was trailed with a chuckle almost as sarcastic as the statement. Stan felt his eyes wander through the crowd as he shrugged and scrunched up his nose. For a moment, he was lost in the world of KFC and his own opposition for answering. Then, slowly, he exhaled and hardened an expression he wasn't used to wearing. The mute blush, which hadn't even yet heated his pale cheeks, slowly disappeared as he forced his mind into the depths of frozen waters rather than impassioned thoughts. Still, a trace of ghostly fingers, feeling solid as the ground beneath his feet in their seductive touch, moved about his shoulders.

" Well. . . Sometimes he does. . ." Stan struggled to remain poised as he said it. Hearing a soft chuckle on the other end, he was almost certain he had managed to do so. Yet, the lingering touch of those fingers made it impossible to entirely relax. Not even when he heard the light scoff of his well meaning, though, admittedly, cold hearted best friend.

" I know. I was being sarcastic," Kyle answered unnecessarily. The activist nodded in agreement to something unsaid as he heard sheets shuffling, " You guys are always at my shop and you guys are _always _going to KFC,"

" You make it sound like a bad thing," he mumbled in defense of a sediment he was defending only to continue the conversation. With his boyfriend idly staring at the opposing wall and still people before him, the last thing Stan Marsh wanted was to be left to his own devices. Considering his recently developed habits within the confines of his own bathroom and magazines borrowed from a perverted lover, he wasn't sure what would happen if he was left alone to stare at the ample curve of Kenny McCormick's backside. Thus, he prodded the easily motivated Kyle into what could prove to be a deeply heated talk or a fairly light hearted jeering session. Either way, the rise of heat rushing to his cheeks was unwelcomed and the snide remarks trickling into his ear were.

" Fried chicken everyday for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is _not _a good thing," the Jew remarked in jest. Stan could make out the sounds of him fighting with the mirror, which was really just him attempting to straighten his mess of curls. Stan felt his own hand mimicking Kyle's as he nervously ran his fingers throughout his mess of brunette locks, " No matter how much you want it to be,"

Somehow, this conversation had actually turned down the path Stan had literally been trying to avoid by starting it.

" You don't understand," was his half hearted response as he closed his aquamarine eyes to the discussion. This was uncharted territory for the activist. In all his years, he'd never formally talked to anyone about his current relationship. Although he'd had many debates concerning breakups, there'd never been one addressing an ongoing one. More so, this was not about a certain liberal female. This was about Kenny McCormick. As such, Stan felt the tension rise as they strained his voice into a manner of trivial frustrations. The words sounded hollow, unimportant versus the confusion they conveyed concerning his desire to explain. Unfortunately, Stan found himself a lost for words and merely pressed his fingers into his forehead in an effort to gather them.

" I don't understand what?"

" Kenny. . . he. . . he gets this really sweet look whenever I take him out somewhere. It's like. . . " there was a moment of hesitation where Stan physically looked up as if to peer into the staring emeralds he was used to speaking to. Instead, he saw nothing outside the greasy whirlwind world of the KFC. Knowing not what else to do, he gave a shrug, regardless of the obvious fact that the Jew couldn't see him. In emphasis of nothing, he motioned with his free hand as he struggled to express what he meant, " He's just happy he won't be going hungry,"

" Of course he's happy he's not going to go hungry. All he gets is one Poptart a day," Kyle curtly snapped, his voice rolling with the usual measures of aggravation of an average day. Through it, though, Stan caught the tiny trickle of jest at the words. The joke was appreciated, as his redheaded friend wasn't known to be humorous in the face of actuality. To that end, however, there was a still second lost to the hands of time where Stan ceased to exist.

Two aqua orbs found the checkered spaces between him and the perilously angelic Kenny. He saw the way those sapphires disappeared from the face of reality in the most chilling, frightening ways imaginable. A jolt of hot, electric fury engulfed the activist in an abnormal show of fresh, unadulterated, raw emotion. The purity in it was striking as his lip curled, his teeth gritted, his fist tightened around the slim fragile phone. The heat was melted over in quick succession by the pulsing cold of the tundra, leaving his flesh iced and his blood frozen. The whispers in his ears beckoned him across the expanse, although he pursed his lips and fell backwards into the waters of the moonless night; the frozen waters of his darkened soul.

With the turning of his eyes, the vision of his angel vanished and he was plunged back into the reality. The agony which consumed him, the agony which was not his own, slipped down below the surface. Rather, he forced himself into the words he spoke with the softest, lightest voice of the morning. He found them slipping together in nervous groups, in uncertain patterns of pause and reflection. Yet, he knew no other way in which to describe the phenomena he had witnessed in the past several days holding that precious hand with its dirty fingers. The confession was heart wrenching in that Stan had never considered the idea of ever confessing such a thing to anyone, even Kyle Broflovski. He went slowly, the mute embarrassment quenching the other emotions which fluttered in his butterfly filled core. Not a touch showed, but then, on a phone call, all that mattered was the words he spoke. Unfortunately, those words were drenched in his thoughts.

" I know. But the _look _he gets on his face. It's so sweet. . .So innocent. . I don't know," he tried to express something more before his voice simply caught in his throat. Scrunching up his nose, the activist gave a weak sigh and shake of head as the hum on the other line grew steadily more frustrating. Kyle said nothing to interrupt the floundering, " It must sound so stupid,"

" It does," Kyle responded plainly, without a single expression to the statement. Stan gave the air about him a venomous look, hoping the Jew could feel the pressure of his momentary glare.

" Shut up,"

" Oh, come on, Stan. You know I'm just teasing. I think it's _cute _that you have a crush on your boyfriend," he cooed out smoothly in a wholly playful manner. It was good natured even while it was horrifically poised in a way that caused the activist to swallow deeply. His hands clenched at his side as he listened to his best friend chuckle over the line in his way, knowing he had struck a nerve and waiting for the strike back. This wasn't a game to Stan, but he had known getting into anything with Kyle would turn into a debate or something similar. Kyle just liked the fight too much for his own good.

As for Stan, he felt the pawn slipping through his outstretched fingers as his body was drawn towards the master of the matter.

" Yeah. . . well. . . " Stan shrugged for absolutely no reason other than the desire to deflect the fires brewing in waiting. He failed to address the Jew's jeering as he traced his eyes down the lines of that gorgeous blond. Kenny stood with one hand on his hip and the other resting fingers lightly on the counter as he leaned slightly forward to order. Watching the little creature, seeing those lines, prompted an explanation. There was no need for one. He sensed already that Kyle either understood what he had been trying to say or he understood that he needn't understand it totally to find it endearing. Regardless, the words were torn from the activist's mouth in a cold desperation to elaborate, " If you saw his face whenever I say we're going out, you'd understand. It's like. . . I'm his hero or something,"

" Haven't you always been his hero?"

The words hung in a suddenly tense, still air lingering between the burning world of the Jew and the frozen realm of the activist. There was something nearly perverse about the sheer audacity at such a seemingly sweet statement. The ill will Stan regarded the question in was unheard of for such an emotionless soul as he usually appeared. Yet, there was an almost instant flare of electric anger which overtook his calm demeanor. His eyes darkened passionately as he jerked his head in a shake at the mere suggestion that he could ever be that forsaken angel's savior. If he hadn't felt so vile about it, he probably would have berated Kyle for mentioning it. Instead, he gritted his teeth as the flare shocked through his blood stream, cutting through the cold in nearly blinding ways.

" What? No," he snapped with definite finality. He discarded his normal habit of controlling his voice to fully express his disapproval at this turn of phrase. There was no doubt in his frosted mind's eye that the point was wholly appreciated. He heard the way Kyle drew in and exhaled that cast away sigh. He understood a line had been crossed.

" If you say so," the Jew muttered offhandedly. Stan nodded to no one as he unclenched his throbbing hand. There was a slight pause in which he chewed on his lower lip while he listened to his best friend fussing with something. The activist listened to the Hebrew swearing, which he was somewhat accustomed to, as he tried to think of a way to steer the conversation to a less devious topic. As if reading his thoughts, Kyle did just that with his slightly absentminded question, " Don't you hate it when your siblings steal your best pair of jeans?"

" I wouldn't know. Shelly doesn't touch my clothes," Stan stated, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. The topic was different from the usual routines of video games and gossip, yet it was also different from the previous. That was all that was really needed to prompt the activist into running with it. Luckily, Kyle seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

" At least she has style in your family. Can't say much about the rest of you," Kyle laughed as he said it. Stan could just see him rolling his eyes in that off collar way of his whenever he was being particularly sarcastic or humorous. It was a bad habit that he had picked up from a certain Nazi back in elementary school. It was also one Stan could almost physically feel in his voice.

" I think it's 'cause I'm a boy, but okay. Sure, we'll go with I have no style," he said, rolling with the jest he could feel in those words. Again, there was a laugh in his ear. Stan felt the beginnings of a grin pulling at his lips as his fingers struggled to run through the length of his bed head hair.

" You don't have style," the redhead informed him with a certain assurance to his tone that was nearly comical. A half laugh was eased from Stan as his eyes rolled in a similar fashion to what he had felt within the timbre of his closest companion.

" And you do?"

" Well, yeah, I do. I care what I look like,"

" You don't have any more style than I do," the activist curtly replied, his voice hitting a more matter of factual tone than he had intended. He heard the joking within the Jew's words, but he couldn't help feeling remotely offended by the teasing. It wasn't full blown offense, though, as he acknowledged, and always had acknowledged, that Kyle's sense of humor bordered heavily on the tactless. Still, some of the jest ran away from his own voice as he scrunched up his nose lightly in a secondary pause, " And I care what I look like,"

" I have style, thank you ," Kyle argued to the rising fluster of the activist. He bit his lower lip again as he looked away, towards nothing really. He shook his head then when he caught the lightly heated chuckle of his best friend. He heard the way the fire rolled along his words and he knew exactly what was going on. Kyle wasn't trying to have conversation. He was baiting for a fight. His words were clearly poised for it, as much as they were dripping with ember, " I actually _match _my clothes,"

" I'm not having this fight with you. We're both boys. It's weird," Stan instructed, making a harsh stopping motion with his free hand. A jolt struck a nerve as his eyes narrowed in a rising note of frustration. He felt the bait and that was sickening, as he knew what it was the Jew was trying to so. More so, however, he had never engaged in such a debate. This was quickly falling into what the freaky four dubbed 'gay conversation'. This was not something he felt truly comfortable with, even if, at the same time, he didn't feel entirely weird about it.

Nevertheless, Kyle was baiting and Stan wasn't dealing with it.

" I thought you were gay?" the Jew asked despite the fact that it was not a necessary question. Stan squeezed the bridge of his nose with a low sigh at the very mention of this. He could feel Kyle's fire brewing. He wasn't ready to handle a fully ready to go Broflovski bitch fest, especially not if he was actually looking for a fight. He hadn't slept well and that was nothing to couple with what could possibly turn into an ugly tear of colorful language. Besides, he wasn't even sure he knew where Kyle was heading with this strange strain of questioning.

" And?"

" What? Don't you and Kenny have 'gay fights' about fashion and all that good stuff?" Kyle teased lightly, a soft laugh following shortly. Stan felt his head shake while he was pierced by a wave of ice water that cascaded from his head to his toes. There was pressure within from trying not to tell those fires to withdraw, but still, he resisted.

" Uh, yeah, no," he plainly answered, trying to disarm Kyle. This talk of theirs was on the brink of territory Stan didn't want to go. Mostly out of desire not to have to listen to that internal rage, but also, out of the tension arising from the strictly 'gay' topic at hand. Fashion and the activist never had gotten along, after all.

Kyle, on the other hand, clearly wasn't ready to quit.

" Oh right, because Kenny doesn't have a fashion and you don't have style," the redhead continued. Only this time, there was much more malice to the statement. The previously underlining flames roared to the surface with a distinct bite to the timbre used. Almost instantly, a surge of flame flashed through the suddenly scorching waters within the other's mindset. The calm vanished in a haze of steam that came rolling off Stan's tongue with obvious venom before he could calm his words.

" Just because we screw like fags doesn't mean we fight like 'em," the brunette retorted with every remaining ounce of ice left beyond the mind numbing fire of the emerald eyed redheaded creature. His tone was welcomed, as he could see that callous smile. A groan nearly escaped his mouth as he squeezed the bridge of his nose harder in frustration.

" So, you admit, neither of you have any fashion sense," the Jew stated rather than asked. There was no need for questions when the anger had been reciprocated. He had his fight and he was ready to go full throttle into a screaming match. The eager inferno in that assertion was proof enough of that.

" I admit that we don't fight about our fashion sense," Stan answered with a defiant air of nonchalance. If Kyle wanted to hear him snarl, then he wasn't going to. He knew better then to feed those roaring hell fires, especially this early in the morning. Instead, he hardened his voice. Slowly, the lines of his face hardened in his effort not to just hang up the phone with a solemn goodbye. He didn't know why Kyle was trying so hard to fight with _him_, but he wasn't going to play into that trap. He didn't want that hot headed Jew using him like this.

Stan had dealt with that before. He refused to go through it again.

" Right. Because all you wear is jeans and tees and all he wears is hunter gear. What's to fight about? 'Honey, your orange jacket doesn't go with my jeans?'" Kyle pressured, his fire licking over the melting ice within Stan. There was a shiver which tore down the activist's spine in his refusal. The comforting warmth he sought out now seemed so deadly passionate at bringing about this impending argument. There was even a light chuckle which dripped off the other line.

" We don't have bitch fights about clothes 'cause we don't have a problem with what we wear. And I'm not fighting with you about this," Stan sharply informed him. There was a certain touch of finality to his voice that he forced into every word. Outwardly, he gestured to nothing as he cut his hand to the side. Shaking his head, he said the only thing he would think of that could possibly deter the other from his chosen line of attack, " If you wanna fight about fashion sense and who's got what, call Cartman,"

Checkmate.

" I'm not gonna call Cartman. I don't wanna talk to him right now," the redhead snarled venomously with a searing inferno falling to the sheer ice of the activist's mentioning of said Nazi. Below the surface, Stan heard that screaming building up. He knew how to defuse his darling Kyle's attempts at an argument. He almost felt guilty at presenting this route, but the game was set and the match had to be finished before the first strikes could be made. In Kyle's defense, he would be better off if he didn't viciously tear his closest pal to pieces with those decisively horrendous ways of his.

" Why? You two disagree on the 'in' color for fall?" the brunette grinned as he teased him, his eyes rolling upwards. Something about this felt wrong, close to cheating, but he knew better than to play a bad hand in a game of roulette. The sweeping frost of iced water that overthrew his mind then as he heard his friend growl into the phone.

" No, because he's been a total bitch to me these last couple days," Kyle barked in a stressed tone that spoke volumes to how he was truly feeling about it. Stan didn't address that. Rather, he pushed harder into the problem. He knew doing so could incite a riot he may have to control. Yet, he knew he had to find a way to drench those flames before they claimed anymore lives. Thus, he drew in his courage and he plunged into the lion's den.

He knew better than to ask about Eric Cartman.

" How's that different from any other week?" Stan questioned, some of his own internal curiosity touching his tone. There was a second where he wished he could grab back the words and drown them in their own hideous assumptions. He didn't. He let them play into the molten terror that fueled that little Jew with his pretty green eyes. He let them pull at whatever was driving this frustrating battle for control. And he let Kyle absorb them with a sharp inhale of breath.

This was not a game, but Stan played it like one. He rolled the dice and he counted the cards and he cheated. He heard it in the way Kyle chewed on the words he probably wanted to spit out in an engulfing fire of hatred. He knew Kyle would never speak to him like that, not again, not after that tainted day when they were in middle school. He recalled the way those emeralds had darkened in fury. Somehow, he half expected the sudden click of a phone call ended. He shouldn't of brought Cartman into this. He knew better. Still, he had seen the ace and he knew the bet and he had placed his cards on the table. He knew what the snake pit held. He knew the way they stared topaz and emerald at each other. He shouldn't have, but, dammit, he wasn't doing this dance with Kyle. Not again.

" He's acting like a diva and I don't want to have anything to do with it," Kyle hissed in a low, seething voice trembling with pent up fury. The heat with which he spoke practically personified itself in physical form thanks to the passion he put behind it. The nonchalance lingering on Stan's face cracked a little with the guilt. Nevertheless, he proceeded, knowing that this was going to quickly dispel the Jew's desire to continue baiting.

" Cartman _is _a diva,"

" I know that. I don't have to _deal _with it, though. Let's stop talking about Cartman," the Jew suggested with a mild tone of desperate withdrawal. Stan silently nodded in agreement as he listened to his friend fuss with something. Slowly, those aquamarine eyes narrowed in hesitant confusion as he glanced at the cell pressed to his ear.

" What the hell are you doing?" the activist asked in honest bewilderment. He heard a sigh directly in his ear before he knew the redhead was frowning in distaste.

" Getting dressed," he replied plainly, although his attempt at sounding calm was overshadowed by his usual angry timbre. There was a certain level of agitation there that wasn't normal. The cold confusion within Stan heightened as he tilted his head slightly and gave a light shrug of disinterest.

" It sounds like you're fighting with your sheets or something," he offered as observation despite the mute questioning to his statement. He wasn't actually going to directly suggest something like that to Kyle. The Jew was easily offended, and considering his penchant for turning minor details into raging debates, Stan had always thought it simpler to never officially imply anything. Therefore, he offered it and waited for confirmation or rejection.

" Well, I'm not," came Kyle's wholly agitated answer. Stan made out a distinct touch of fiery angry to that voice. The confusion lingered as those aqua eyes glanced at the phone yet again, this time in wonderment of what was really going on across the small town. Grinning just barely, then, he laughed softly in what he assumed was good humor.

" Having some trouble with your jeans?" the activist joked, shrugging out of habit. His eyes began to wander before a snarl in his ear shocked him into stillness.

" And just what the hell makes you say that, huh?" the Jew snapped with an impressive show of defensive hatred. Under normal circumstances, Stan would have recoiled and held up his hands to ward off a total meltdown. Especially in the morning at that hour. However, the sheer shock of his realization rendered him incapable of doing either. Instead, he blinked and glanced at the phone in muted uncertainty.

" Uh. . . Wow. I was just joking, but okay," he said with little change to his voice. Offhandedly, he shrugged again, in order to physically dispel any and all interest. His face slowly melted into apathy, but his mind did not. Only heightening that was Kyle's venomous response, spoken in a harsh, biting, low toned growl.

" You make it sound as though you're correct," he barked, fire rolling through the air between their worlds and melding into the ice shield the other quickly tossed up for protection. Stan shivered absentmindedly as he heard that inferno building to screaming hysteria. He heard the pitch rising as Kyle continued, " You're not. So drop it,"

The words were punctured by a soft echo of a dull thud. The sound of a fist smashing down on wood. The sound of the Jew's uncontrollable rage. The sound of a checkmate poised perfectly, suddenly, and without warning. Just hearing that brought Stan's mind racing through the conversation to the inevitable conclusion. There was never a moment's hesitation in saying it. It wasn't an accusation, but, no he never considered not saying it. Stan never did. Still, his iced words pierced through the fire with a definite chill that swept over his blood in the same manner as before. There was just something so _taboo_ about the question. Of course, the activist knew what the play meant, for he knew the taboo, but, nevertheless, he saw the black square on the proverbial chess board and he placed his queen in place to take down the throne of the conquering little redhead demon.

Fiery taboo be damned.

" Have you gained weight?"

" NO," Kyle outright screamed into the phone, his voice actually loud enough to mildly echo in the confines of the KFC halfway across South Park. The deafening screech smashed into Stan's soul with a tremendous, pulsing roar of fire the likes of which ripped through the ice walls with an unheard fury. Jerking his head to the side, though, the activist merely grinned in slight amusement as a downpour of frozen waters quenched the fires. He felt none of the fire. He merely shook it off as he ran his fingers through his messy hair.

" You've gained weight. Dude," Stan restated, leaving it as a statement rather than pushing it into the boundaries of implication. He heard the unmistakable sound of Kyle slamming his fist down on wood again. The smile on the brunette's face lingered anyways as he turned aqua towards the ground in what might have been an attempt not to break into an all out smile.

" I _said _NO," the Jew protested with the same bite, but not the same scream, as before. Stan heard him swear in Hebrew before there was a dull thud of another smack followed by the sound of Kyle throwing something either to the ground or into the wall. He wasn't sure. All the same, he knew the answer as well as he knew his own name. Tilting his head, then, he directed addressed the topic at hand without ever accusing him. The question was a question, nothing more, despite its unthinkable reserves.

" How much?"

" I don't wanna talk about it. It's not that bad. It's just not," Kyle absentmindedly answered, his voice trailing off and feeling amazingly distant although he was still speaking into the phone. Stan got a strong impression that the Jew was no longer addressing him. Feeling the conversation drawing away, he found his eyes wandering towards the hunter orange jacket of his boyfriend. He saw that little pervert grabbing up the tray and his blond head looking every which way to find the apathetic activist. Waving his hand, Stan nodded to the phone where he heard a muttering of foreign tongue.

" Okay. Fine. I gotta go. Ken's comin'. Bye," Stan quickly said in the usual deadpan, monotone way he usually spoke. Before he could say anything else, he heard the click in his ear as Kyle hung up without another word in English. The activist rolled his eyes dismissively as he snapped the cell shut and slipped it away into his pocket.

Standing there, watching as the blond walked over, Stan idly ran through the conversation. There was a second where he wanted to hold a finger up to Kenny to call Kyle back and ask a few clarifying questions. If not of the weight, then on the mention of the poor boy. The explanations he had given, in defense, in honor, didn't seem to accurately define the emotions kept locked within his cold exterior. Yet, he also found his hand refusing to move to call the Jew. The pressure beginning to pool within his freezing mind left him speechless, emotionless, motionless as aqua traced the lines of the glitter smeared eyeliner over those pale cheeks. The death within shattered into the pool of moonless water as a warm smile crossed over his lips. The remnants of his phone call drifted away in the shocking thrill of being so close to the intoxicating form of his lover. All of those jolting emotions roared to life, like an electric thunderstorm raging beyond his honestly excited smile. They all trickled through the mask, to show, but he never minded.

" Hey," Stan whispered without his control. There was a fury brewing within that threatened to expose his desperation to kiss those tender lips. Yet, he did his best to remain calm in the face of those sparkling sapphires.

" 'Sup, Lover Boy?" Kenny greeted him in a startling loud voice of Southern tones. His eyes shined as he tilted his hips to the side in a dramatically curved line from his set shoulders to his slender, bare thighs. The activist felt his eyes pulled down to the creamy complexion revealed as the blond shifted his feet from side to side in idle restlessness. The scratches and glitter splashed about those revealed legs, but their appeal was as awe inspiring as they were intriguing, " How's Kyle?"

" He's. . . .Kyle," was all he could think of to offer as an explanation as he gave a mildly discarded shrug on one shoulder. He gestured to no one, to nothing, but there was an underlying meaning within the steady movements of his hands. It was a meaning not lost on the poor boy. Stan felt the assurance of that comfort as a sly Cheshire grin snaked its way over Kenny's mouth.

" Havin' a bad mornin' then?" the blond replied without really needing to. His eyes were shielded momentarily as he turned to look about for a place to sit. The swooping line of the hood to his customary jacket cast his fair features into deep shadow, which only accented their angles. A sudden chill sparked over the blood within Stan's veins, cutting through his flesh and freezing his heart in place for several seconds lost within time. Then, breaking in fragments, he eased into a smile as he ran his fingers through his tangled hair at the memory of his previous conversation.

" Something like that," he offered, restraining the grin he felt on the inside. He couldn't deny the amount of nearly emotionless delight he held for Kyle's unexpected turn of events. However, he refused to showcase such things in front of Kenny. Part of that was out of respect for the Jew, as he feared just how much of his deadpan micro expressions the pervert could pick up on. Part of it, though, was a desire to turn the talk more towards their own personal business.

Or perhaps not talk much at all.

" He's such a diva. Let's sit over here," Kenny motioned with the tray to a free table a couple feet away from them. The two made their way over, to which end, they slipped into the same side of the uncomfortable booth together.

Regardless of how hard and unwelcoming the thing was, Stan couldn't help but relish the fact of being so close to his beloved angel. A splash of ice water collided with the flush rushing over his skin when he draped one arm over those slender shoulders. Carefully, the activist pulled the poor boy into the warmth of his body, pressing them together from shoulder to knee. The rush spiraled into a freezing overthrow of everything within. His heart shuttered as he tried to swallow, failing. Finally, he swallowed hard, rough, as his mouth was dry from the nerves trickling through the ice. Nevertheless, Kenny didn't react. He merely adjusted his hood so that the cascade of his blond locks fell forward, so that some were resting on Stan's shoulder. They were soft as silk as they brushed over his neck when those dirty, little hands swept them backwards, into the folds of that orange hood.

Every move was a well placed card in their game. Stan fell into the calm collection of his chips, counting up the ways to bluff his way through this sparkling water sensation. Instead of anteing the bets, however, he rested his cheek firmly against Kenny's head. He fell into the haze induced warmth radiating off that petite body held so securely in his arms. For every drop of ice melting into his blood, freezing his face, descending his aqua eyes into their persistent death, he was overwhelmed by the presence that was the blond. Frighteningly, he was consumed, overtaken, even erased in that solitary second where he was suspended between the frozen world of his own and the solid heat of the one beside him. Fear poured into his mind, ripping from him the momentary peace, before his eyes turned away. Everything vanished in a jolt of electric fury, piercing through the hollow of the dark waters to illuminate the only thought that mattered.

He was there with Kenny.

For that reason alone, Stan tore himself from the haphazard confusion of mixed emotions. Instead, he turned pools of aquamarine studying down to the table. He saw eight dirty fingers tapping aimlessly on the white wash tabletop. Each one had glitter sprinkled over the broken knuckles. A cold reminder that the two lovers had not spent the previous evening with one another. The chill melded with the ice within, though, and Stan found his eyes wandering to the tray with the greasy chicken and the like. For a minute, he addressed nothing. He simply watched how those fingers pounded out a dance song that played on the radio all the time, all day and all night. He knew Kenny was mouthing the words and maybe, just maybe, the song was actually playing in the background. In that moment, all he heard was the soft crinkle of that jacket and the dull thuds of the beat. A light smile lingered over his lips as he eased the warmth of that precious angel closer. Rather than outwardly concentrate on the music, he offered a generic question in hopes of starting some form of communication.

" What'd you get?" he asked with a heightened air of nonchalance. As he said it, he raised his orbs at long last from those hands to the two crystal eyes turned towards him. A haughty smile was cast in his direction.

" Fried chicken," Kenny answered without a single hint of sarcasm to his voice, regardless of the sneering smile he gave his activist. To which, Stan replied with a sharp look of what could have been anger, although it wasn't. The pervert was utterly unaffected by said stare, smiling all the same, which caused the activist to verbalize his gaze to further his point.

" Not what I meant,"

" I know," Kenny stated, nodding slightly, as if he could hear the silent embarrassment just barely making its way into Stan's timbre. The activist glanced away, wishing his boyfriend wouldn't dare bring attention to the obvious. Unfortunately, Kenny didn't adhere to his unspoken wishes as he snickered and lightly drummed his fingers to his lovely, velvet voice, " But you're the dumbass who asked,"

" Whatever," the brunette answered plainly, fighting the flushed heat trying to slip into his voice. His tone could have been taken as angry, although it wasn't, and the poor boy didn't appear to take it as such. All the years of knowing the apathetic teen allowed the blond the gift of reading through the lines of that deadpan voice. Thus, Kenny didn't address the dismissal. Rather, he began to divide up the pieces of chicken and the sides. As he did, Stan noticed the small, almost unseen pout to those tender lips. Frowning, the activist watched on, rubbing the shoulder he was holding. Two sapphires briefly acknowledged the loving gesture, but that didn't lessen the sadness etched over those forlorn orbs. Stan was overcome with a jolt of icy worry. Still, he could not read that face to see what was going on in that head. Tilting his head against Kenny's, then, he whispered his question, finding his voice impossible to raise higher in pitch. The softness to his words slipped like silk over the air quietly, " What's wrong?"

" What'd you mean, 'what's wrong'?" Kenny mumbled, his eyes raising to meet the aquamarine gaze pouring over him. The gems of the activist ran over those fair lines and he wasn't sure how to address what it was he meant when he asked the question. There were no words, however, to describe what it was he saw lost in the light of those faded eyes. He bet it all on the only expression he thought suited the bluff.

" You don't look happy," he informed the poor boy in what he hoped wasn't an accusing tone. Considering the emotions pooling underneath his cracking mask, though, he couldn't be sure. Regardless, he was informed nothing by the empty expression presented. In a slight hurry, Kenny's face broke into a gentle, meaningless smile best explained as hollow. The void within filled Stan in a cold worse than the depths of death in its all consuming nature, rushing through his blood in an unexpected spark that livened every thought, every emotion, every pulse that followed it.

The queen was moved, the position chosen for the strike.

The most frightening thing, though, was that this was not part of the game.

" I am," Kenny simply said in a voice devoid of emotion. There was not a trace in those two words to allude towards any persuasion. The effect was eerily familiar in a manner Stan wasn't keen to recall in it's entirety. Rather, he hardened his expression to the fierce cold and plunged deep into the lion's den, so to speak.

" Ken," he likened the word to a marble stone cut from nothing to create a spark between the two. The sapphires held his face with trembling regard, much like someone caught at the scene, " What's wrong?"

There was a pause, then, that followed the stiff seriousness of the unadorned question. The activist felt his body leaning into the words, slightly, but still enough that Kenny tilted his head a fraction of an inch down to continue gazing at him without his forehead touching the cheek of his lover. Stan studied him, those eyes, in a vain attempt to discern what lurked beyond those perilously joyous hued orbs. He found no answers. Instead, Kenny turned his eyes away as his tongue wet his plump lips softly and slowly. His fingers drummed away on the table; their music a background noise easily ignored for its familiarity. Still, he did not meet the aquamarine stare which rested on the sleek lines of his face. In time, however, his blue gaze was drawn upwards again, and he looked through his messy tangles of blond to see the stern look fixated so helplessly, so apprehensively on him.

" This is real, right?"

Those words shattered the world about them in a stabbing, thrusting emotion that paralleled horror without ever touching it. Stan felt the ice swallow his mind in a pitch black white oblivion. Still, he was found alive in every sense of the word, for the pulse that raced through his frozen blood was livid, enraged, with an unprecedented fury. He wanted to grab those delicate shoulders, to shake that fragile soul, until he broke those empty eyes and broke them down into crystal tears of raw passion. For all, he felt, however, there was but one word ripped from his mouth in a desperate need to clarify. He knew all that he heard, all that was implied, as he knew how to read the falling and rising emotions not etched on those pale cheeks. Still, the word slipped out as he shivered and allowed the shock to consume him violently.

" What?" Stan breathed out, feeling that the amount of confusion lurking in his voice was highly uncalled for. He didn't retract the word, though. He allowed it play on the forever moving chess board with the pieces cut from stone and devoid of feeling.

" Us. Together. It's real, right?" Kenny repeated in a softer timbre than before. His words spiraled out in a damning crescendo of implication. Nevertheless, he implored the underlying truth behind his formidable questions. Stan merely wished he hadn't said it when he did, for the mild taste of disgust which filled him was enough to make him mutely recoil. The touch of those grounded words, that uncontrollable sentence, was enough to sear fear permanently into the previously unshakeable confidence of the activist concerning their relationship, " It's not just because I'm a whore?"

" It's real," he answered the callous question with as much assertive assurance as he had ever answered a single thing in his life. Slowly, though, the sternness was eaten away by the soft flutter of butterflies. Stan's mouth eased into a smile and his hand raised beyond his control. Gently, moving in small, although still sweeping motions, he tucked a lock of blond behind Kenny's ear. Doing so, he moved the color from that perfect face and, when he had, he moved closer until his lips met those of such tender making. He kissed Kenny with all the sweetness melting the ice and all of the love pulsing the heart within. When he moved away, the glow lingering in those sapphires detailed the extent which his kiss had extended. He stroked that cheek, smiling again, while the poor boy returned the gesture with earnest and the precious scrunching on his button nose. There was more emotion within their blue eyes then that ever before. To which end, Stan's mouth whispered the words to express all he felt as simply, as kindly, as he could, " Very real,"

" Good," the poor boy muttered with a kind of certainty to his voice. Nodding then, his peaceful expression was replaced by a snaky Cheshire smile and a narrowing on his orbs. The snarkiness returned tenfold to his slang voice as he sneered, " 'Cause I wanted to make sure it wasn't just based on my looks,"

" It's not. I don't care what you look like," the activist said without missing a beat. He rolled his shoulders back in a form of shrug, discarding the change of persona in his lover as he did with all his other closest friends. The pervert gave a short, halting laugh as he flipped his hood up and down for the sake of doing something with his hands.

" Well, gee, thanks. Yer a smooth talker, ain't cha?" he joked with substantial bite to his every word. The roughness was ignored as the other sighed with a coupled glance to the side. Stan wet his lips and rubbed his hand over Kenny's arm, as his own arm remained draped over the blond's shoulder. There was a moment of flushed embarrassment for the teasing. However, that was resolved with a cold statement of his own.

" I _meant _that you'll always be beautiful to me. Inside and out,"

" Yeah, you say that _now,_" Kenny teased further, pressing one dirty finger into Stan's cheek without regard to the pressure. Stan didn't bother with swatting away the digit. He merely rolled his eyes and offhandedly gestured to the food getting cold on the table.

Kenny never once looked anywhere but Stan's face.

" Whatever, Ken. Just eat your goddamn chicken," the brunette motioned again to the food before he flicked a potato wedge at the blond. With every effort to control the deliciously sinful expression, Stan grinned over at those sapphires. Kenny, on the other hand, snorted quite rudely into the back of his hand in an attempt not to laugh. Still, for all his attempts, it was in vain, for shortly thereafter he broke down in hearty, full out laughs. The sound was like music to Stan's ears as he smiled warmly down at the love of his life.

Kenny fell against Stan then, holding his hand to his cheek, as he laughed that beautiful rarity of a true, honest laugh of pleasure. It was in that moment that two things happened within the frozen world of the activist. The first was the breaking, wholly and totally, of the ice which held his blood in mute neutral. The second was the realization that getting to know Kenny for the beautiful creature he was inside might require something much more powerful than love. Stan just couldn't for the life of him figure out how he knew that. He just heard it, in that rolling laugh, the sounds left unsaid, the words left unspoken, from the voids floating beyond the surface.

For the first time, Stan Marsh considered the possibility that he didn't know Kenny McCormick as well as he thought.


	8. Details At Your Own Risk

The sun was burning hot as it slipped through the wooden boards haphazardly nailed over the broken window of Kenny McCormick's bedroom. The heat that pulsed through the air, however, was so much more engulfed in that heat as Stan pressed his hungry lips to the collar bone of the succulent little angel beneath him. A pair of worn out sneakers were left on the floor and an orange jacket was tossed over the edge of the mattress. The rest of the clothes, it bunched up on slender waists and stretched over legs bent as their bodies tangled together in a passionate ensnarement on the bed. Their mouths were together, apart, but their flesh, their clothes, remained pressed wholeheartedly to one another. Hands found their way over all of it, as Kenny grabbed his lover's shoulders as tightly as he could. The activist fell into the embrace with every ounce of emotion he had ever felt in his life breaking through all the white and dark of his mind. He pinned the blond to the bed as his hot mouth licked an inferno over the pale, glitter stained flesh of that neck bruised at the back.

The taste of Kenny was bittersweet, Stan found as he smoothed his tongue over that neck. The honey of sweetness was overthrown by the lingering smoke, the glass mirror that couldn't be seen through that would reveal more than was needed then. He didn't dwell. He moved his mouth to those tiny shoulders, quivering in his strong grip, and he kissed them as he heard Kenny cry out in that gorgeous Southern timbre he adored. Its sound pierced through the still, sobbing air of the heated afternoon of early summer. In desperation, then, the angel grabbed hold of the activist's shirt collar, his fingers wrapping it about his banged up knuckles, and he jerked his head down to his own. Their lips were forced into a deep, all powerful kiss that radiated down their spines in a jolting explosion of electricity that erased all thought from the moment. Stan was left to his own impulses and he plunged into the dark waters of them with the same energy in which he drank down the passion feeding into his mouth. His hand found Kenny's plump thigh in the midst of everything. He pushed his fingers deep within the bare skin as he hiked that slender, shapely thing up, closer to his shoulder.

" Fuck yeah," the angel exclaimed in an airy voice that swirled through the world around them. They were lost there as Stan pressed his gasping lips to the throat that breathed out those vile little words with such dignity as to render them beautiful. When the activist's lips found that throat, he found the flesh to be as tender as silk was soft. He kissed him there in a gentle, sweet motion that made a shudder extend down through that fragile form.

This softness spiraled down through his entire body as Stan gripped those plush thighs with both hands. He ran up them softly, his fingertips alone touching the skin that beckoned so dramatically, so intensely for his touch. Kenny's back arched into him and he felt the pressure of the room pressing down into his back as he breathed hot licks of air over the throat that cried out incoherent thoughts that might not have been in English. Two hands grasped those jet black locks, running through them roughly, painfully, in all the right ways. Their bodies were held fast, held together, at every gasp, every cry, every breath, every shudder, as Stan pushed his cheek deep into the shoulder that held him back. A shock of ice cold electricity burned within, scorching all inside. The jolt made Stan inhale sharply before his mind was overthrown by a sensation he wasn't even capable of naming. His mouth found the hollow of Kenny's throat and there it stayed. His head was pulled ever closer when the angel held him down, his gorgeous, pale legs wrapping about the activist's waist so as to further extend their closeness. Every breath that slipped out of Stan's mouth was a soft, heated exhale that poured over Kenny's throat in a light brush. Slowly, in the intoxication of bliss, Stan smiled as he squeezed those thighs still in his shaking hands.

" I love you, Ken," Stan whispered into the burning embers surrounding their bodies entangled so perfectly together. His words resounded in the silence of the loudest breath, the heaviest heart beat, as every sound slammed into his mind. The activist was overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his tense, wholly relaxed muscles in the moment before he heard his beloved utter a strangled, lovely sound into the thick air about the bed.

" Oh. . god! I. . .uh. . love you," Kenny cried, his hands jumping into the air for the briefest second in the history of the falling of time. Then, they were there, their firmness pressed to Stan's panting jaw line. The pull was irresistible in the ecstasy of those gleaming, stunning sapphires shimmering through the haze billowing through the mind of the brunette. Stan was moved forth until Kenny had him within inches and even closer still. Through this, their lips found each other and they kissed as they had never kissed. The explosion of white hot ice roared to life in a livid outrage that consumed all things.

The passion, however, was not meant to be.

" KIN-NY!"

The shriek was a damning wrench's screech that echoed throughout the confines of the desolate home on the edge of town. The scream of Carol McCormick, though, shattered through the air with such a physical force, the two were ripped violently from the void of their own desires. The fair features of the poor boy were suddenly stolen by a fury of the rawest kind.

" MOTHAHFUCKAH!" Kenny replied, smacking his fist into the mattress he was laid out on. Stan felt the heat trickling away in painful strides. Nevertheless, he clung to his boyfriend's body in a hopeful manner.

" KIN-NY! GET OUT HERE!" Carol bellowed as if she hadn't heard the less than flattering response she had just received. Kenny gave the doorway the finger as she continued to holler the same few words repeatedly. A few banging footsteps thumped around somewhere else in the house before Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in utter defeat to the situation.

" Jesus Christ," the activist groaned out while his head dropped down onto the blond's chest. Stan literally felt the depressing way in which his body slowly, yet surely, lost all the previous emotions that had consumed it. A chill swept over his flesh, causing him to shudder. Under him, Kenny smacked his hand again to the unforgiving mattress stone hard from years of abuse and misuse.

" FUCK! I'M _BUSY_ MOM!" Kenny called out, cupping his hand over his mouth. The gemstones within his slightly flushed face glowed with demonic hatred for this interruption. Honestly, Stan couldn't be sure his own darkened gaze shifted towards said door was any less infuriated. Yet, it continued on the same path, for Carol didn't seem to be willing to acknowledge any of the frustration presented to her.

" KINNY, I DON'T CARE!" his mother barked, her voice reaching a deeper pitch than it's normal whine of a timbre. There were the sounds of unsteady footsteps moving closer. This was followed quickly by something Stan was surprised to hear, sounding close to someone smashing their palm against the flimsy wall of the hallway, " GET _OUT _HERE!"

" _WHAT? _" he screamed at the top of his lungs, using both hands to cup his mouth as though that would somehow magnify his voice any more than it had before. For all the screaming, however, Carol continued to yell out his name, the banging increasing to near menacing levels. The cold that was creeping through Stan's blood pulsed with every hollow smack; so much so, he found himself gritting his teeth in an uncustomary form of outward projection of emotion. Shaking his hand, he glanced through his messy hair to see those lightly murderous orbs.

" Just go,"

" Fuck, no," the poor boy retorted sharply, his penetrating stare leaving the broken doorway to turn towards the aquamarine eyes that peered up at him. Stan set his face in stone, however, and there was nothing to be said to ease the roughness of his hardened expression. Kenny pouted in his own way, although he never formally crossed into the line of pouting. When he spoke, his voice was mildly defeated in a promising sort of way, " Don't make me go. We're jus' gettin' to the good part,"

" KKIINN-NNYY!" Carol shouted in the distance that was steadily growing less faint and more defined. The activist gestured to the door way. His action gathered the wandering attention of the blond.

" The sooner you deal with that," he muttered in a voice almost lost to the faint screaming and pounding from the living room and hallway. For all that was consumed, though, there was so much more heard. The ice of the blood within fell into the words of the mouth as Stan jabbed a finger venomously, hatefully, at the door separating them from her, " The sooner we can get back to us,"

" _Fuck_," Kenny sneered out of the corner of his mouth. He gripped his dirty fingers into tight, white knuckled fists that threatened nothing more than that they did. There was a touch of passiveness to his expletive that only the ears of his closest friends could hear, " Shit, alright. I'll be back,"

With that final statement, the pervert gave Stan a light shove to move him off of his luscious form. Stan slipped off him, allowing him the room he needed to pull himself up and away from the fading heat of their union. In a muted rage, Kenny swung his feet onto the ground and off he swept, his footsteps pounding with a familiar type of frustration. The activist was left to himself, where he promptly exhaled a heavy hearted sigh as he rolled his eyes absentmindedly. He let himself drop onto the hard mattress, face down, so as to accept the lost of the intoxicating inferno he had finally been privy to. As he fell from grace, he heard the muffled sounds of fighting, much like screaming, though none of the words were close enough to make out in anything close to coherent language. There was a minute where he wished to distinguish one word from the other. That was quickly erased, however, by his desire not to know what it was the two were arguing about. Stan wasn't sure as to why he didn't wish to know, but he was sure he didn't. Thus, he turned his careful ear away as the sound of a bottle breaking collided with the still silence of the bedroom he remained.

A flurry of heated words slammed into the stale air. They consisted of nothing more than various combinations of swear words far too colorful for any two people to exchange. Yet, again, Stan refused to listen close enough to discover their meaning. He merely swallowed slightly when a loud 'pop' like sound smashed into the air with a sickeningly wet noise that seemed highly inappropriate. Electricity burned through Stan's clenched fists into the air. There, it caught fire in a frozen inferno of unforeseen capacity. The activist felt his mind plunge backwards into the outward stretched hands reaching through the waters to jerk him into the freezing realm of the condemned. The pressure was unreal as he gasped slightly, his eyes widening. Footsteps slipped through the cracks and, without warning, Stan was thrust from the void of black nothing and back into the bedroom. His eyes jumped to the doorway as the rickety thing swung open in a wide arch.

Seeing Kenny standing there, his hands up on the frame with bloodied, glitter tainted hands, Stan felt his head literally jerking up. There was nothing done that allowed him to know if the poor boy realized he was still in front of his lover. Rather, Kenny spat to the side before wiping his mouth in one long slide of his arm across his quivering lips. He didn't look up, not even for a glance. The sapphire gaze fell heavy on the ground, where it remained as Stan pushed himself into a sitting position. The aqua darkening in his unnaturally calm face studied those bare thighs, those tainted knuckles, those hidden eyes flickering behind a wave of tangled blond. Taking it all in, he furrowed his brow in unchecked, outward worry. Every word which left his mouth, then, was drowned in that icily hot concern.

" Are you okay?"

" Yeah," Kenny spoke in a voice so hollow, it practically echoed within itself. The crystal clear void of that sound struck Stan with an almost physical form of pain. A shiver of ice spilled down his spine as he turned his gaze to the face he couldn't see. Somehow, that image pressed itself upon his mind; that solitary figure lost in the shadows of the hall and the light of the bedroom, his face so deeply hidden.

" You sure?" he asked slowly, knowing before he opened his mouth what the answer would be. Sure enough, there was a fraction of a nod and the same empty word stated so solemnly in his direction. A surge of cold rushed through the activist, stunning him in a terrible fashion. As he drew in a breath to steady himself, all his thoughts were drowned in a drunken woman's bellow.

" KIN-NY!" Carol screeched, her voice appearing much stronger in its vocalization. Kenny lowered his head a bit more, as if the sound was a presence that drew him down in a slow, steady collapse.

" Hey, Stan, I'm gonna hafta ask ya to leave," the angel whispered gently. There was a quiver shaking his words in a deeply agonizing way that Stan felt in his blood. Light, though wholly solid fingers pressed over his shoulders. He tensed to their faint touch, feeling it slipping through his flesh and into his heart. The ice inside froze faster to protect him from a force he wasn't prepared for. Sapphire licked through the blond in a deeply disconnected manner that hauntingly mimicked the fingers only Stan felt. In a similar way, Kenny continued his excuse, " I got shit to do,"

Instinctively, the activist felt his eyes darken into deathly shades as their violent aqua hue was jerked from that fair angel towards the shadows beyond his shoulders. Beyond the darkness, lost in the shapes of nothingness, he could see the stabbing image which ached his heart in a nearly hysterically furious way he wasn't used to feeling to such degrees. He saw the outline of a skinny, eaten away woman draw back her achingly long neck to press her lips to an equally long necked bottle. The woman was broken by the darkness, making her outline all Stan could see beyond the loveliness that was his beloved. Seeing her, marking her in vile disgust, he removed his stare and rested it again on Kenny. In the change, however, the cold worry was coupled with dry, tasteless fear. He swallowed it down as he gripped the sheets in a desperate desire not to leap to his feet and grab up those shoulders shaking in their effort not to fall into the abyss.

" I can help, if you want," he offered without the need to clarify. There was a shift of legs, those dirty fingers sliding down the doorframe to linger in the dust filled air. A painful shake of the head was granted as those boots eased an inch on the rotten wooden floorboards.

" There ain't nothin' to help," Kenny told him. Not a single word was said with conviction nor did they hold any truth. Still, there was a firmness to the way in which they were said. Their finality was what prompted Stan to move forward. He wished to get to his feet, but thought better of it by the sudden stiffness that echoed from those squared shoulders. Instead, he eased back and allowed the freezing emotions to pour into his voice to pierce the threshold of their quickly fading universe.

" I could just sit here then," he suggested, presenting a subtle smile. Lies were wrought in the upturn of his mouth. He knew immediately that the lies spoke louder when not said as he lowered his head in what felt as sickening as bile, " Keep you company,"

" Naw. You should jus' go. I'll see ya later tonight. . . or somethin'," the poor boy assured him, although his fragile voice said otherwise. Lingering sounds of thick, heavy glass hitting breakable plaster, though, brought to life a shockingly real sensation of burning pain scorching through the flesh of both standing there. Kenny's head shook quickly, his hands gripping the edge of his shirt in a distressed way, " Maybe not tonight,"

Hesitation consumed Stan. There was an immeasurable amount of doubt which surrounded the sheer unheard of request to leave. He wanted to stay, to protest, to grab that frail, little being, in order to protect him from the growing darkness of an ending day. However, he knew he shouldn't. For everything that presented itself, he knew the look to those dirty fingers. He had known Kenny for eleven years and many more lifetimes it felt, and he could read the way his body language screamed what he wouldn't. The last thing the poor boy ever wanted was for anyone close to him to have to bear witness to whatever was happening on the other side of the McCormick door. The broken bottles, the upturned tables, the fists through walls, the shrieking, the swearing, the fighting, was the private realm of the McCormicks. Stan, for all that he wanted, knew better than to stay on that bed that afternoon. He knew he would know what happened after he got up, but he knew that Kenny didn't wish for him to know. He respected his privacy enough to let his body get to his feet, his hands straightening his shirt rather than clenching into frustrated fists.

Inhaling his resolve, Stan stepped across the trash littered floor and over to Kenny. Carefully, cautiously, he reached out to take hold of that dirty, glitter stained hand. Gently, he gave it a squeeze that connected them through ice and fire, wind and water, as all crashed into one another in a furious battle for control of the situation. What prevailed, though, was the firm, solid sensation of passion as a soft smile made its way across the mouth of the angel. Still, that blond head did not raise, not even slightly. Leaning down gingerly, Stan tilted that fair face to the side, raising it a bit up with his free hand, so that he could gaze truthfully into the sparkling sapphires that stole his aquamarine stare so completely.

" I love you," Stan breathed out, almost as though trying to speak to no one but the ears of the blond in front of him. The smile parted into a sort of pained gasp as those eyes softened in an agonizing fashion befitting the fragmented emotions trapped in those orbs.

" You really don't know how much that means," he whispered back, his hand gripping the rough knuckles of the activist with heated vehement. His eyes looked lost, but his smile found, and the combination thrust ice into the suddenly engulfed mind of the brunette. The gentle compassion, nevertheless, overshadowed all as that smile couldn't have been more real in its rawness, " 'Specially right now,"

Giving that dirty hand another tight squeeze, Stan rested his hungry lips lightly against the tender ones of Kenny. They kissed, but not with the impassioned fury of before. Instead, their embrace was laced with agony, love, and, above all, a need that wasn't verbalized, lest it be heard and thus tarnished for its very nature warranted it such. Easing back, then, Stan tasted the bitter air of the stale world that beckoned him to the summer's heat laying outside the wooden hell on that edge of town. With great effort to do so, he turned and began to walk away. His fingers stayed entangled with those of the blond for as long as possible, for Kenny clung to them without ever asserting his desperation not to be left alone. The moment where their fingers fell away from the other's, Stan looked back. He looked at that pretty, solemn face and he offered him the softest, purest smile he had ever felt within his soul.

" Call me if you need me. Whenever," he said faintly, his voice hitting the air with striking volume considering how low in which it was spoken. His words were met with a bottle crashing in the distance and the lingering smile of Kenny as he turned his head completely, and utterly, away from the offer. Slowly, Stan nodded and faced the darkened hallway leading to the rest of the world.

Faces peered out of the shadows, through the faded grays. Washed out lines, half hidden by tangled hair, gazed blankly with empty, dead sockets cut out of the dark. They didn't look at anything. They just appeared in the flickering lights, the emancipated corpses of the walls, of the floors, of the rotting coffin of the house forgotten. Every footstep was matched by aching, hungry noises of gasps, pants, whines, as fingers scraped along wood and metal and bone. One shrill cry echoed in the still, heavy air steadily cooling as Stan stepped into the living room smelling of sulfur. Looking back, there was nothing but the peeling wallpaper and a single pair of child's shoes left in the hallway, facing him. His fallen angel leaned in his bedroom doorframe, his face a black nothing, as the darkness overthrew him and consumed him like the other ghosts of the McCormick house.

Entering the living room, Stan saw the couch overturned and a lone, long necked bottle of tequila left on the counter of the kitchen. The booze was half gone, with smeared cherry red lipstick staining the edge. Swallowing dryly, he left the house and lightly placed a foot down on the cement warmed from the sunshine beating down from the clear, gorgeous sky. From behind, he heard a child cry, heard a door slam, and heard glass crash into nothing but the void that had swallowed up so many lives. His hand still on the handle, he felt the door being shoved shut, jerked in the frame, as a damning clink of metal sounded the lock. He was gone from that world and nothing he did would gather him entrance now.

Sighing dejectedly, Stan pushed his hands into his pockets as he left the dirt patch that was the McCormick's lawn. He hopped across the railroad tracks to the better side and made quick word of getting to the sidewalk. Heading down the street towards his own home, his thoughts turned again to Kenny. For a moment, he wondered whether he had done the right thing. Yet, even as he thought it, he knew he hadn't. Still, he had done what was needed and wanted at the time. That didn't absolve him of the choice to begin with, but, needless to say, he had no way of knowing what would have happened had he not made the choice he had. He had seen many things in his short lifespan. One reoccurring theme was that when orders from drunken parents weren't followed, things tended to become much worse later. Therefore, he turned his attention elsewhere.

Doing so, he continued past his own front porch. He walked down the sidewalk a few more houses until he came upon the Broflovski home. He made his way up the steps and through the front door without bothering to stop and knock; he knew he would be let in. Instead, he swept on inside and towards the stairs. His eyes flicked momentarily, taking in the lithe form sprawled out on the couch cushions. Ike stared blankly, emotionlessly at the screen that switched through commercials. The touch of death which spilled through Stan's blood was unnerving at best, frightening at once. In order to avoid it, he left, heading up the steep stairs to the upper floor. There, he knocked only once on Kyle's bedroom door before he was inside and kicking the door shut with his foot. Sighing, he flopped down on the bed with his leg dangling off one side and his arms left out in the manner in which they fell. Spread eagle, then, he glanced at his best friend.

Kyle was in his computer chair, one leg pulled up and folded underneath him. Yet, he wasn't actually on the computer. Instead, he had the book 'Pride and Prejudice' cracked open and rested on his knee, his eyes moving from side to side in avid interest. Next to him, there was a seemingly forgotten bag of chocolate. Also seemingly forgotten, or at least unnoticed, was Stan, for the Jew didn't even look up momentarily from the page in front of his green eyes.

" Here for your weekly allowance?"

A slight grin flashed over Stan's face at the deadpan seriousness of Kyle's voice as it teased him without ever needing to sound joking. He snickered into the sheets as he went to kick off his shoes, only to find that he had unwittingly left them at Kenny's. Another low sigh escaped his mouth then as he flipped onto his side and curled his slender form about one of Kyle's pillows. He left his back towards Kyle, knowing that his friend wasn't looking anyways. An eyebrow was arched, though, when he spied a bag of chocolate gracing the bed. Shrugging, he unwrapped a piece and ate it, glancing over at the Jew continuing to read.

" Yeah, I guess," Stan answered through a mouth of chocolate. There was a flicker of emerald in his direction, but he didn't respond to the gesture. A roll of eyes followed quickly.

" Don't be rude. Don't talk with your mouth full," the redhead reminded him in that overly motherly manner he had when he wasn't trying to be mean or instigating a riot of fury. Stan didn't acknowledge the verbal warning any more than he did the physical one. Instead, he glanced around the messily neat room, taking note of all the empty and unopened bags of chocolate tucked into corners or left out in the open. He raised his eyebrows at them as his friend turned a page in the hard covered thing of intrigue.

" Dude, you've got a lot of chocolate,"

" My boss gives it to me as a 'courtesy'," Kyle explained absentmindedly with a rolling shrug of both his slight shoulders. Stan showcased none of the mild curiosity that lurked just below his icy mask of indifference, " You know, because I'm the only one that works,"

" So, what? You jus' take it all home an' eat it?" the activist halfheartedly teased, turning his gaze to the bag he had pulled over to where he was laying. He read over the information on back for the simple reason of doing it. Glancing sideways, he caught the way Kyle pursed his lips in a familiar agitated manner that actually gathered a smile from the otherwise empty brunette.

" Not _all _of it," Kyle hissed venomously, his eyes cutting up to cast a shadowed glare of sorts over the side of his chair to where the other was laying. Stan was immune, of course, to such looks. He merely tossed the bag down on the sheets and unwrapped a small square of sugary goodness.

" What'd you do with the rest of it?" he asked with some interest for the answer. Kyle pointed an accusing finger at him as the book tilted down towards the floor.

" The rest of it you, Kenny, Ike, and Cartman eat," he answered plainly, without any of the accusation his body language held. Stan looked over his shoulder briefly as his brow furrowed and he frowned with only a fraction of the emotion brewing deep within. That pale face never once changed from its stern expression of slight amusement.

" Did you jus' say I eat too much?" the activist demanded without the demand. His timbre remained as even and mellow as it has beforehand when they had been discussing nothing of importance. Despite this being nothing of importance really, he felt a spark channel through the frozen waters of his soul and he turned them to look again over his shoulder in waiting for the answer. He was granted a shrug as the hard emeralds turned to the words of Jane Austen's classic literature.

" Take it however you want,"

" You're the one that's gained weight," Stan sneered in a spiteful manner than never touched on the emotions within. The frost cracked slightly in the heat that spiraled about his words, although the half smile which tilted his mouth didn't have anything to do with said crack. Either way, he hadn't even gotten out the first chuckle when the thick novel slammed into his side with considerable and impressive force. Stan snapped out a mild swear as he flinched in the sharp, stabbing pain of the attack. Glaring, he threw the book to the floor as he rolled onto his back, " _Ow, _"

" Don't toss my fucking book on the floor. I'm not done reading it yet," Kyle barked, flipping his best friend the bird with some feeling to the gesture. Stan returned it with earnest, frowning deeply at his too easily enraged pal. The fire brewing behind those eyes was beginning to make itself known in a rather loud manner.

" Then you shouldn't've thrown it at me," was his reply, coupled with a hearty eye roll to dismiss the building embers threatening to burn him. He was untouched for the moment, as Kyle gritted his teeth in what he quickly recognized as an attempt to remain calm. Still, when he spoke, his voice was a fury of repressed anger that was never directed at nor meant for the activist he so frequently victimized with it.

" Shut up, Stanley," he snapped as he uncurled his body from the chair. He crossed the room and snatched the book from the floor. Casting his friend one final look, Kyle dropped down on the bed besides the activist. Stan moved his foot in an effort to make sure it wasn't in his way while Kyle flipped aimlessly through the pages of the book, " So, you ran through all your money already?"

" You sound surprised,"

" Well, it's obvious you had money for KFC this morning. What happened to the rest of it?" the Jew tilted his head down at the book, but he wasn't reading a thing. Stan fished through the bag of candy and plucked a piece from it. Slowly, he unwrapped it as he watched the curls of that fair face bounce as he shifted his gaze from the old words to the brunette beside him. A shrug was given.

" What rest of it?" Stan placed the chocolate on his tongue and began to suck on it while he opened yet another piece. Eating this one too, he discarded the wrappers on the floor as his aqua gems eyed the confused expression that followed his answer. He furthered the confusion as he answered; again with his mouth full, " That was it,"

" What'd you mean 'that was it'?" Kyle questioned, his fingers tapping on the cover of the book with some noticeable pressure. The lingering sense of heat added to the obvious displeasure of the Jew. Regardless, Stan offered no better explanation as he played with the corner of the pillow between them.

" That was it. That was the last of the cash you gave me last week. I spent it," he said without an ounce of shift to his unconcerned tone. To further his point, though, he made a sharp cutting motion with a hand to finalize what it was he was trying to get across, " Gone. All of it,"

" It was a hundred dollars," the other reminded him in astonishment. There was nothing to be said in his defense, so Stan offered nothing of the sort. Those eyes hardened in underlying disbelief as the inferno made itself known through the raging fires of his next words, his knuckles blanching from how hard he gripped the edge of his book, " What the _fuck _did you spend it on?"

The only answer Stan could give was a shrug and the truth. Thus, that's exactly what he gave the glaring Jew, in the only word he felt justified the attempt to explain.

" Kenny,"

" You spent a hundred dollars on Kenny in a _week? _" was the dramatic exclaim which answered what he had to offer. Every word was punctured with a jolting rush of fiery shock that pierced through the brief space between. Stan shivered slightly, finding himself incapable of returning the rush with a shrug or even a look. His face was utterly blank as Kyle seethed in his very open distrust to the suggestion that Stan could have done exactly what it was he had, " How expensive can he be? He's _dirt ass _poor!"

" It was mostly booze and food. It's not that cheap, you know," Stan argued, despite a lack of energy to his words. He didn't feel the need to protest this point, even though he could feel a true fight building in that voice. Kyle gritted his teeth and his fingers dug into the edge of the book. Again, Stan was reminded that the Jew was searching for a fight, as he had been that morning, and he clearly was still eager to force the activist into one.

" It's called the '_Dollar _Menu'," the redhead jeered, a half smile flickering faintly over his lips. A hunger was leering through the green of his deeply engorged orbs. The fire was consuming his every thought. Stan could smell the smoke licking through the air. A quick shake of his head declared his protest to such an endeavor even as he knew Kyle wasn't paying attention to such clues.

" We don't eat at McDonalds," he reminded him with a certain touch of ice to the edge of his timbre. There was a gleaming filling those eyes that foreshadowed the intentions of the other.

" Maybe you should start. Or better yet, stop eating out," Kyle cattily stated, his hand pushing back his curled locks with a gaze of sheer arrogance. Stan knew that look all too well as the calm before the storm. Again, he shook his head in vain, as he desperately wasn't ready to fall into the clutches of the dangerously venomous Jew. Nevertheless, his vital clues fell on deaf ears and to blind eyes, for the white hot fire was numbing Kyle to every other sensation. He continued on the same path, his hands finding the book cover and clutching it incredibly too hard for the moment, " You know, one of these days, I'd like to spend my money on _me _for once,"

" Why? So you can buy more chocolate?" the activist joked coldly, his body cascading into the depths of the frozen underbelly of nonchalance. For all his attempts, he felt there was nothing to derail the hell bent redhead. Thus, he plunged his blood into the ice of impassioned indifference to remain unscathed by those horrendous fires. He felt the cold licking over his tongue as Kyle's face finally broke into its wide, wicked smile.

" I don't buy chocolate," Kyle answered hotly as he unwrapped a piece of the candy. He ate it with that smile tainting his good looks with an unmistakable air of sickening hatred. Stan turned his aqua stare elsewhere for a split second, before jerking its frozen solidarity to the face of the other. Smiling half an icy expression, Stan tossed a wrapper at him in a wholly playful gesture.

" I need more money," he bluntly replied, his expression falling away quickly as his emotions were hardened in the ice storm threatening his mindset. Kyle nodded happily, his sickness eating into his happiness like a disease. There was so much fire there that Stan vaguely wondered how long it had been since he had just screamed in order to let it out, that rage of his.

" I like that you're so upfront about it," was the almost sarcastic response to said bluntness. Kyle motioned to a discarded book bag laying on the floor near the edge of the bed in an absentminded way, " My wallet's in there. There's a fifty in it. That's all you get. Don't ask me until my next paycheck,"

" Thanks,"

The word hung in between the worlds of hot and cold as Stan leaned over the side of the bed to grab the bag off the ground. He fished through it's many pockets until he located the skinny, green wallet that held the money he so desired. Taking it, he dropped the wallet and the bag back onto the floor where Kyle had left them. Then, folding the bill and slipping it into his back pocket, he returned to his previous position on the bed. Next to him, Kyle had returned to reading the Austen book. The Jew slowly ate a couple pieces of sweet chocolate as his eyes hungrily ate up the story he was clearly deeply interested in. Stan didn't disturb him. Rather, he laid back against the plush pillows and allowed his eyes to wander over the supposedly plumped body of his best friend in mild interest of his own.

At first, he found that he didn't notice any sort of change whatsoever. Looking over the boy who had grown up next door to him, he didn't see a thing out of place. As he looked closer still, however, Stan began to spy slight changes he probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't already been aware they were there. He spotted a bit of weight gathered at Kyle's once washboard flat stomach. Then, eyeing him further, he noted that the arch to his backside appeared more defined, more rounded, even more fuller than before. Looking still, he spied a bit of plumpness to those cheeks and some heaviness to his thighs so previously toned from years of morning runs to Raging Pussies. The pounds were so small, so minute, but their impact was profound to the likes of Stan. After all, he couldn't remember a time when Kyle had been anything but perfectly thin.

Shock struck Stan hard. The jolt smashed into his spine and cut through his blood with a surprising speed that made his eyes widen as his expression held that emotion purely for just the briefest second. Forcing it away, though, he cleared his throat. He shifted his aqua stare elsewhere, anywhere, with noticeable difficulty. He knew Kyle hadn't seen him looking. He knew that the rage within would have exploded in a mass amount of declarations, accusations, and the like. Still, he found the uncertainty surrounding the unspoken topic to be a little daunting. Instead of broaching it, he turned his eyes back with a defiant decision not to address it right away.

" So. . . what've you been up to today?"

" Well, it's my only day off, so, I'm catching up on everything I haven't done the entire week," Kyle said without taking his eyes off the page. Stan arched an eyebrow, turning his eyes down to the book, then back to the room. He spotted a stack of thick spined novels resting on the computer chair with creases in their spines from having been laid out over the Jew's leg; the only way he really ever read anything, for whatever reason.

" Reading?" Stan probed with a hint of jest. Kyle gave a halfhearted shrug, his eyes doing a quick little dance from aqua to Austen.

" Well, I can't study," he replied with all the seriousness he ever used. There was a moment in time when Stan paused, waiting for the snide smile that told him this was a joke. He wasn't presented with anything of the sort. He cast the immersed redhead a strange look that fast faded into nothing.

" It's summer. Shouldn't you be. . . I dunno. . . partying?" was the empty suggestion Stan gave as he unwrapped a piece of chocolate. Two emeralds lifted from the world of the written word to give Stan an exasperated look.

" Who the hell do you think I am?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing in what could passed as anger, although it wasn't. Several years of close friendship allowed the activist to see that. He noted the bewilderment. He noted it, but he didn't register it. He just looked over and blinked with a blank stare returning entirely to his deadpan expression. Slowly, he gave a one armed shrug that meant nothing and they both knew it.

" Kyle," Stan grinned as he said it. The smile was short lived, as always, for he didn't feel the need to express anything further. He then shrugged again, eating the chocolate. The look he was shot, of course, demanded a better explanation than a mere joke. Without conviction, he offered the only one he had, even when he knew it would not be well received, " I jus'. . . figured. . .y'know. . . since Cartman's been out. . .Maybe you were with him,"

Kyle stared at him in unconvincing disbelief.

" Yeah, an' why the hell would I be with Fat ass?" the Jew implored, his fingers laying cautiously over the book's pages as if they spelled out the answer he didn't want anyone to read. Stan didn't lower his gaze to the words that meant nothing. Rather, he considered the icy possibility of bringing it into the fiery light of the summer afternoon. He weighed his cards in his proverbial hand, before choosing against it. Betting with Kyle Broflovski wasn't a game he enjoyed, least of all concerning said Nazi. Thus, he played the fool, and swallowed the cold words that had tilted their hand at the tip of his tongue.

" You said earlier that you were fighting. Figured you'd been hangin' out," he casually told him, fighting the urge to shrug for mild fear that it would reveal his true cards. All he could do was hope that he was able to keep the ace up his sleeve and let the joker do the work. He was greeted with a snarl of white teeth that electrified him suddenly and harshly.

" Lemme just get one thing straight, Stan," Kyle breathed out in a voice so hot, it was borderline cold. The fire was unfurling fast and heavy, seething through the emeralds in a dark shadow that overthrew that entire body. The book was snapped shut with a defiant slam as Kyle jerked an accusing finger in Stan's direction. There was so much hateful rage in that one gesture that the activist quite literally swallowed it in the scorching air as that haunted, commanding voice swirled about his essence, " _I _do _not _hang out with _Eric Cartman_,"

" 'Kay," Stan cautiously responded in the mildest voice he could muster in hopes of defusing the rage swimming in the orbs giving him such a pressurized stare. Slowly, carefully, he unwrapped a piece of chocolate. He half expected the Jew to lash out, to shove him from the bed, to scream, to do something. The other half, however, was sure he wouldn't until he was prompted to do so by some other outrageous claim. Stan wasn't keen to give it to him. Therefore, he pushed the candy into his mouth and gestured to his enraged friend in what he hoped was a suggested turn of phrase so uncalled for, it derailed the storm heading his way so quickly, " You seem to be enjoyin' the candy,"

" Excuse me?" the redhead hissed, his eyes narrowing that much more. Somehow, they still managed to look less wicked than when the discussion had turned towards a certain heavy set Nazi. Stan made a vague motion with his hand.

" You know. . .the chocolate. . .that they give you,"

" I know what the hell you're talking about Stan," Kyle snapped bitingly, his shoulders squaring in defense. Having put him to the defense, though, was the first step towards calming the inferno whiting out his otherwise rational mindset. Stan nodded to himself as he tilted his nonchalance in favor of the bet placed before him. He went for the ante without an ounce of fear for entering such unknown territory so quickly and without any formal warning of doing so.

" I'm jus' sayin'. . . as your best friend. . ." the activist kindly began, making an all inclusive hand over hand circular gesture in the general direction of the Jew. An eyebrow was arched as those lips pursed. Still, he allowed his own concerns to surface in hopes of ending this argument before it began. Stan worded it carefully, though, just in case he overstepped his boundaries, " Maybe you oughta. . . ease up a little,"

" It's not that bad," the other quickly asserted, his anger vanishing in the face of this all too embarrassing reality. Stan pressed forth as he saw that already pale face blanch even more noticeably than before. His words were even in tone, but they struck the air with a stillness that were frighteningly indifferent. Of course, Kyle seemed almost grateful for the nonjudgmental mannerisms of his closest friend as his emerald orbs softened steadily.

" Yet,"

" It's not gonna get any worse," Kyle assured himself more than anyone else. Stan could tell that simply from the way in which he looked as he said it. His eyes even tipped downwards to address the way his hands were holding the closed book. Slowly, the Jew chewed on his lower lip as a secondary pause proceeding his assurance, " Because it's not that bad,"

" You've gained weight, dude. It's _always _that bad," the activist informed him. The information must of come as a reminder, of course. There was nothing about Kyle's unsure disposition that said otherwise. Stan was sure he had already played through this conversation with himself. Still, he didn't change the course of it by injecting. He allowed the other the courtesy of running through it out loud with someone of, presumably, opinion.

" It's only seven pounds. It's not that bad," was the tense response he was given as Kyle's eyes lowered to his pudgy waist as slowly as they possibly could. Stan arched an eyebrow as he unwrapped yet another piece of stolen chocolate. His friend didn't appear to notice.

" I guess it's a gay thing, then," Stan pushed the chocolate into his mouth as he pointed his finger in an non-accusing manner. Kyle still jumped as that hand moved in the direction of his lovely, feminine styled face with those slightly widened green eyes watching him closely, " Your cheeks are fuller, you know,"

Kyle seemed too horrified to move, to which effect, Stan tossed his wrapper at him.

" Jus' sayin',"

" Would you shut the fuck up?" Kyle screeched hysterically, snatching up the chocolate bag and throwing it into Stan's head. Stan snickered under his breath as he pulled the bag off his head. The Jew fumed in his own fiery anger, his eyes narrowed and poised on the opposing wall. For a moment, he continued in this fashion. Then, he jerked his attention back towards the activist, wearing a rather haughty expression, " And they are not,"

" So, you've noticed? Your cheeks, I mean," Stan said, grinning with all the snarky attitude in the world. He gestured to the slight plumpness to those cheeks, which gathered him an incredibly humiliated look in return. Then, Kyle pushed his hand into the brunette's face as he ate another piece of chocolate as if they weren't talking about his increase in weight. The activist moved his head back, brushing aside the hand that restrained him. A light chuckle escaped his mouth while his eyes rolled back and Kyle returned the motion, " You're so weird,"

" It's not funny, you know," the hot tempered boy informed him in a matter of fact tone, his head tilting as he head it. The brunette pointed outwardly towards the light bulge nearly completely hidden by the black shirt the redhead was dressed in.

" You gained weight," he plainly stated, his voice dropping back into the unimpressed tone it usually held. Then, slowly, a half smile flashed over his lips before it too vanished, " That's always funny,"

" Yeah, well, it won't be funny when _you _gain weight," Kyle sneered, cracking a smile of his own at the very mention of it. Stan, however, didn't even flinch. He idly shrugged a shoulder as he popped a piece of candy up into the air and caught it in his mouth.

" I won't,"

" You eat at KFC morning, noon, and night with Kenny," the Jew chided, counting off the time frames one by one on his slender fingers. Stan wasn't moved by this observation either. He continued to gaze up at the pretty face of the other in utter apathy, " And you're telling me you won't gain any weight?"

" Yeah," the activist assured him, running his fingers through his bangs before shaking them out. Kyle arched an eyebrow at him, questioning him without ever having to say it, " 'Cause I don't really eat there. I just go there,"

" You go to KFC, you spend a hundred bucks, and you don't eat anything?" Kyle repeated, waving one of his hands to the side as if dismissing the whole possibility. There was a shrug and a brief pause in which they both looked at one another in emotions that had no names. They were a cross breed between distrust, trust, and boredom that had no true meaning to anyone outside of them. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone as the activist answered in his favorite manner: a shrug and brief explanation.

" I eat something," Stan replied, his eyes looking towards the white ceiling overhead. Thinking on it, though, he removed his cast away stare and returned it to the wholly unimpressed look of his closest friend, " Most times,"

" Then why go to KFC at all?" the Jew demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and giving him a look of curious proportions. Almost immediately, though, there was a spike of a red hot flare as those emeralds rushed into livid shades. He jerked his arms apart and jabbed a finger at the dead expression of the other, " And how'd you go through a hundred bucks?"

" I told you I spent it on Kenny,"

The answer hung in the air, as if he had never said it. Yet, the look on Kyle's face clearly showcased that it had, in fact, been said. Those emeralds bore a nearly empty appeal, as that face showed nothing outwardly. Stan's expression was much on the same level, for he felt only a surge of darkness along the edge of his mind. He bore no reason for the penetrating ice of the unnamable feeling, but he felt it strike his blood with something similar to electricity. Swallowing dryly, Stan fought to keep his face blank, mostly out of fear for what might show. Kyle, on the other hand, allowed his expressions to fall to his mind. A curious look befell his graceful beauty as he carefully, pointed down at the activist watching him as carefully as he watched the activist.

" Can I ask you something?" Kyle said in what sounded somewhat disconnected from his actual voice. Stan nodded and told him 'sure', for he saw no reason to avoid what he knew he couldn't avoid anyways. The question that was presented, though, was nothing like what he had envisioned. Kyle lowered his head a fraction, looking at him through his hair, " Has _Kenny _gained weight?"

" What?"

" Has _Kenny _gained weight?" the redhead repeated in the exact same tone. There was something dark in the way his timbre lowered for the question that didn't sit well with Stan. Still, he turned his eyes away as he threw his mind back into the pool that was the liquid heat of Kenny.

" Uh. . ." his voice trailed off as his head tilted in a similar fashion to the Jew's. Stan did all he could to envision his darling angel, although he found doing so not only to be highly difficult, but downright embarrassing. He knew not why he was embarrassed to do so, though the most confusing was the briefest ounce of guilt he felt, but he did know why it was so painfully difficult. Whenever he thought of Kenny, he found himself seeing that beautiful face smiling up at him through luscious locks of golden blond. For a few minutes, he attempted to see past that face and found the attempt to be in vain. Thus, he blinked and looked back at the other, " I have no idea,"

" How can you not know? Don't you guys have sex _all _the time?" Kyle questioned, his eyes darkening as if he wasn't sure Stan was messing with him or just avoiding the answer. Stan wasn't doing either, so he provided the only answer he could.

" We fuck like bunnies," he proudly informed the Jew who eyed him so suspiciously. Kyle pursed his lips again, then sighed out, his eyes looking towards the ceiling as though it could give him the answers. It couldn't anymore than Stan's absent memory could. Still, he pressed for the answer he seemed strangely interested in knowing.

" And you have no idea?"

" Well, to be fair, it's not like I'm paying attention while we're doing it," the activist kindly reminded him for the sake of having something to say. Kyle gave a half of a shrug as he scrunched up his nose. The expression wasn't a common one, so Stan become suddenly aware of perplexing this situation truly was to the Jew. That, above all, was more interesting than the rest. He raised his eyebrows for it.

" Yeah, but you're like touching him and everything. You haven't noticed a change?" Kyle tried again, his shoulder hunching as he drew ever closer. All his body language pointed towards his desire for an answer. However impassioned he was for it, though, Stan couldn't answer. Alas, he tried again, for his best friend's sake, but it was for naught. He caught a glow of sapphire and that was all.

" In the moment, I might've. But. . . no. Not really,"

" I would think that would be something you would just notice," the redhead stated, as if talking to himself out loud. Stan shifted his position slightly in what might be incorrectly taken as him becoming uncomfortable. Of course, Kyle didn't even acknowledge it. He ignored it as Stan vocalized the curiosity that had sparked his shift.

" Why?"

" Because I wanna know if Kenny's starting to get fat," Kyle blatantly ignored the true meaning of the question directed as his own opinion on physical observation. Rather, he switched topics so quickly, so profoundly, that Stan had to admit, it was almost professional in manner. His expression didn't even falter as he did it. He only smiled, in fact, when the wicked intent of his new topic surfaced with sick delight, " I wanna know before Cartman does so I can be the one that tells him. That would be so awesome,"

" So. . . .it has _nothing _to do with _you _gaining weight?" Stan decided to turn the tables and shift the conversation in another opposing direction. He arched his eyebrow and cast a grin at the sour look he was being cast. Kyle snarled in his direction in utter annoyance at having been upstaged at his specialty.

" This isn't about me," the Jew firmly said, tapping his finger against the cover of his book as if to drive home his point. Stan continued to smile, reading between the lines as well as he always had, " This is about _Kenny,_"

" This is about you. And your money," the brunette maintained, avoiding all possible agitation by sticking directly to the main cause. His smile flitted off as the apathy washed over in a cold tidal wave. Kyle, on the other hand, seemed to flare with a burst of unchecked flames. He lifted his finger slowly from the cover to direct it towards Stan's worn and torn jeans.

" I can take that fifty back any time I want," he warned in a less than playful tone. Within, there was a flash of nerves that prompted Stan to shrug as his fall back gesture. The Jew gave him a halting sort of smile that begged to be controlled before the fires ate away at that sanity.

" Why would you loan me money if you didn't want to?" he implored, his tone suggestive of his intention to defuse the internal angers. His attempt worked this time, as he saw the fires being withdrawn and replaced by a teasing smile.

" I don't want to, Stan. You're my best friend. I'm obligated to," Kyle jeered, pushing a finger lightly into the side of the other's head. The activist felt a light snicker leave his mouth, although he wasn't sure he heard it, as Kyle wagged his finger in his face suddenly, " Until I reach a certain extent,"

" Okay. So, what, you're jus' gonna. . . ._stalk _Kenny's weight until then? Keep tabs on your cash?" Stan joked, even though he wasn't sure how much of it was a joke. Kyle shrugged as he tucked a couple loose strands of curls behind his ear.

" Well, I still don't know where it's gonna, so yeah, I guess so," the Jew grinned as he leaned forward, the book slipping out of his lap. It clattered noiselessly to the sheets as he pressed his palms into the sheets near his friend's slender waist, his back arching a considerable amount. Stan was unmoved by the motions, even as the gorgeous redhead smiled that wicked smile down at him through a mess of red, " Unless you feel like sharing,"

" It goes to Kenny,"

" The only person who eats that damn much is Eric Cartman!" Kyle exclaimed, falling back onto his butt and crossing his arms over his chest like some form of child. His declaration, though, struck a cold nerve within Stan. In reaction, he shrugged. However, this shrug was slightly nervous beyond his control. Kyle's eyes widened as he took in the action and Stan knew that he already knew what it implied. Stan swallowed hard, knowing he had just revealed his cards and worse, he was holding a royal flush. Kyle wasn't one to miss a good play. He arched an eyebrow, calling his bets, as he tilted his head back slightly in that all knowing, all sensing manner, " Unless?"

Stan said nothing, for his voice had run out on him. Yet, Kyle motioned for him to talk and he found it returning after years of practice of speaking to that mindful little hand gesture. Cautiously, he ran his fingers through his messy hair and quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere. When he spoke, though, there was a catch to his words that was unmistakable.

" It's not that bad," he protested passionately. Kyle didn't even acknowledge the tone used, for they were both impressively aware of the fact that he was talking to himself and not the Jew. Still, Kyle felt the need to magnify the problem just as Stan had in their previous arcs of conversation.

" You blew through a hundred dollars in one week at KFC. It's that bad," Kyle informed him without any form of accusation to his usually highly opinionated voice. This time, though, it was left deadpan and emotionless; the same as the activist. Stan felt a moment of searing, next to agonizing gratitude, for such a rarity. For this, he was urged to speak, to justify, even when he knew Kyle expressed nothing for the whole reason of not needing him to speak.

" He jus'. . ." his hands fluttered in the direction of nothing, for the gesture meant nothing but a loss for vocabulary. Stan peered up at Kyle with a terribly obvious look of bewilderment on his face. He wasn't sure what to say, as he had never been very graceful with words, none well versed in talking about things of importance. The Jew offered him nothing, so he was left to his own devices. In defeat, he let out a heavy sigh, his head shaking, as he attempted what sounded as close to the honest reason as he could form words for, " He never gets to eat. He looks so happy,"

" What do you mean by 'happy'?" Kyle questioned, his voice as steady as before. His face rendered Stan nearly speechless, for it had been so long since he had seen the redhead so calm. Nevertheless, he quickly turned his thoughts back to the blond that consumed so much of his thought.

" Happy," he repeated, finding no other words for it. Kyle didn't interject with anything even close to a syllable. Left to his own devices, he tugged on the sheets, staring at the ceiling. He wrapped his fingers aimlessly in the fabric, playing with the sheets in an effort to buy time. There was no logical reason as to why he felt the need to do this. He just knew he did, so that's what he did. Choking down a nervousness that was steadily rising, he was plunged into an ocean of complex, freezing cold emotions which seared his flesh. Shivering, he whispered the only answer leaving his mouth, " Kenny never gets to eat. . . 'cept when he's with me. He looks happy that he's not going hungry. I can't say no to that. I don't want to,"

" You shouldn't have to," Kyle told him, pushing back his curls. Stan raised up his head, as if the confirmation was enough to draw from his lips every other impersonal thought concerning the topic. He wasn't even aware of feeling reassurance, but, there it was in his voice.

" I think it's more his appetite becoming normal," he tried desperately to explain concepts he simply knew by looking at those gleaming sapphires and the fair lines of that pretty face. Kyle allowed him the attempt by tilting his head down and remaining silent through it all; a trait he wasn't entirely gifted at, " Like. . .he's okay with letting himself feel hungry again. 'Cause he knows I'm gonna get him food,"

To this, Kyle quickly nodded, a brief smile forming. Then, just as quickly, he shook his head, frowning lightly.

" Then you shouldn't be getting him KFC," the Jew firmly, harshly stated, his voice returning to the flurry of feelings that controlled his timbre. Stan blinked, seemingly awakening from the numbness of not knowing how to talk. His eyes narrowed for a second, then his face was a blank slate of indifference all over again.

" Why?"

" It's bad for you," he plainly said, wagging his finger at the empty face turned up at him. Stan grinned idly as he flipped a piece of chocolate into the air. Emeralds watched it as he caught it and held it out to him, a snicker drifting into the lightly heated air which permanently surrounded the forest green room.

" And, what, all this chocolate isn't?" the activist teased without regard for how hard or snappish his voice came out. In the end, it was a mixture. Either way, his tone didn't appear to matter, for he knew whatever it was, Kyle wouldn't care. he heard the implication and he glared with first, a flare of true anger, and second, a good humored nature as he recognized the jest for what it was.

" _Hey,_" Kyle hissed, snatching up a square of candy and tossing it into Stan's head with some noted force. Stan didn't bother with mentioning it, nor complaining. He merely flashed the bird and rolled his eyes in an expertly bored manner of speaking.

" Oh, whatever, dude," he idly muttered, tossing a piece of chocolate back for the sake of being childish. Kyle smiled sweetly as he plucked the candy off his green sheets. As he unwrapped it and placed it on his tongue, he gave a casual shrug and motioned to nothing, which was actually directed at Stan. The activist looked at him when he did.

" So, what's it like dating a total whore?" Kyle questioned, folding the wrapper into a tiny triangle. This, he tossed aside, thus missing the glare which Stan promptly cast him for turning the conversation in such a direction. Nevertheless, there was no avoiding the devilishly cutthroat timbre which spiraled out with his venomous protest to such an assertion.

" Ken's not a whore,"

" He gives blowjobs for ten dollars behind TGIFridays. He's a whore," Kyle told him without a hint of doubt or concern to his hollow voice. His eyes were of the small caliber as they looked down at Stan in a questioning fashion that didn't question Stan in the least. They held a deliciously Kyle-styled sarcasm that was both empty and scalding. A flush of ice washed out all of Stan's previous thoughts, his knuckles whitening in the grip he held them in.

" It's pretty fuckin' sweet," Stan informed him out of spite. The pride and ecstasy of his words, however, shone through even without him trying. Kyle's attention seemed to be caught, for he looked at the activist with mildly widened eyes. The Jew shifted his weight a bit, rocking on his knees, as he tapped his fingers on the discarded book. Stan merely grinned arrogantly as the sweetly inexperienced face of his closest companion.

" Really?"

" Yeah," Stan couldn't help the grin which snaked its way over his glowingly mischievous face alive with lustful expression. The smile with unfurled was much purer, much wider, much more of a smile than he normally wore. Yet, it wasn't one he could stop. He felt that succulent body pressed against his and there was no quenching the angry hunger for desire which prevailed in the eyes of that angel. He felt it sweeping over his body and, no, he couldn't help the smile.

" So. . ." Kyle started, his eyes bearing a great notion of enthrallment for the unusual amount of emotion which graced his friend's face. Clearing his throat, Kyle hesitantly shrugged and started again, rubbing his fingers over his arm, " What's the sex like?"

The moment after the abrupt question was asked was consumed by a heavy pause. Stan looked at Kyle in surprise for his daring. Kyle himself appeared to be stunned that he had even had the nerve to ask when he usually avoided such topics. Those emeralds looked away, breaking the silence loudly.

" I don't wanna know," Kyle quickly said after the breaking of the silence. He waved his hands to either side as Stan arched an eyebrow at the shift in opinion. Sensing a pattern, he said nothing. Another deep pause ensued as the Jew stared passionately at the other wall. Then, his eyes glanced back to the activist, " Yes, I do,"

" It's bangin'," Stan answered before his friend could change his mind. Kyle stopped moving, staring at him as if he couldn't believe he would actually respond to something so impossibly personal. Still, the brunette went further as he unwrapped a piece of candy and began to suck on it, " Kenny's got a tight little ass,"

" Oh, nice, dude. 'Cause that's what I wanna think about tonight when I go to bed," Kyle snapped without actually sounding mad this time. He still managed to give Stan a hearty glare which was as demeaning as it was vile. Nevertheless, it slipped off the brunette, for years of receiving sure looks had rendered him completely immune. He gave a shrug again.

" You asked," he calmly reminded him, moving his foot. He pushed his heel into Kyle's thigh, wiggling his toes as he lightly smiled. He noted that Kyle's thigh plumped slightly from the weight there, but he didn't mention it as he looked up at the ceiling in pleasure, " He does this thing with his tongue-"

" O-kay," the Jew jerked his hands up into a stopping motion to cut off the rather raunchy example to his previous question. He shook his head quickly, causing his curls to bounce haphazardly, " We're done. I can't handle this,"

" -When he's sucking me-"

" I _said _stop!"

" -Off," Stan finished with a perverted smile that made Kyle snatch up his pillow with a loud scream that meant nothing to anyone, not even himself.

" Ugh!" he exclaimed as he smothered Stan with the pillow, holding it down with both hands. Underneath, laughs rang out as the activist lost himself to the hysterics. He didn't even fight that hard to escape the wrath of the somewhat playful pillow attack. Kyle screeched, smacking him with the thing a few times in the face for good measure. The smile on his pale face, however, painted a much different picture as he tossed the pillow onto the floor. The two grinned at one another in childish friendship before Kyle thumbed behind him, " Well, I've got nothing else to do today. Wanna stay over and play X-Box until we can't think?"

" Sure, dude,"

With that, Kyle tossed Pride and Prejudice off the sheets as he slipped off them in order to grab the controllers. As Stan watched, the Jew blinked and pulled out his skinny green cell phone as it jingled with a happy little ring tone; his text message ring. He flipped open the thing and took a look at whatever was written there. Without a word, then, he smiled softly, warmly, lovingly, to himself. Then, before Stan could even acknowledge it, Kyle turned his phone off and closed it.

The ring tone was Pokerface.


	9. Chocolate Confessions

Midday on an early June afternoon, the temperature was equivalent to the outer rim of the sun. The rays of scorching sunshine swept over the cracked, faded sidewalk of the suburbia nightmare that was middle South Park. The green and blue houses marking the street seemed to gleam passionately as Kyle dropped down on the stony steps leading up to his house. His curls were hanging in his eyes and he honestly wished he'd been intelligent enough to grab a bandana. Yet, he hadn't, so he slumped to the side, into one of the white side railings his mother had insisted his father install to 'prettify' the Broflovski place two years beforehand. On this overindulgent structure of middle America, he rested his forehead as he tapped his fingers on his breakfast/lunch of the day; an oversized slab of Swiss milk chocolate wrapped up neat and tidy in a golden wrapper. He felt the chocolate beginning to melt, so he cracked open the package and took a bite from the candy slab. The sweet sensation on his tongue almost improved his mood. However, he continued to find himself glaring up the whitewashed illusion of the street to the distant home of his closest friend.

Despite his warnings of it, Stan had managed to blow through the fifty dollars in only two days. He hadn't been specific about what he'd spent the money on. In fact, he had walked about the entire twenty minute conversation as if he was trying to get off the phone from the moment he had called the Jew. Kyle, of course, hadn't been pleased. He has tasted the delicious desperation of the activist and he had tried to keep him on the line. There wasn't much of a reason behind it. Kyle had just listened to the pleading for an 'advance' on Stan's 'allowance' in the name of love for a certain blond ruffian. All he had heard, though, was the burning desire to twist the little brunette around, to make him squirm, to make him beg for the cash as if his very life depended on it. As it was, Stan had sharply ended the begging phone call with a short 'I'll be over soon' and then Kyle had been left seething to an empty caller id.

Nevertheless, Kyle had dragged himself out and onto the steps in order to wait for Stan. While he wasn't keen to be outside in that tremendous heat, he was much more inclined to be outside rather than inside. His mother was out running errands, but his father had the day off from the firm. Just the fleeting thought of that man, bent over his paperwork, his pen scratching over the paper in thick, heavy, pounding lines was enough to make Kyle's throat dry out. His teeth clenched as his fingers dug into the chocolate. He saw Gerald bent over, his hands moving, the scratching echoing in the still air. The hot air. The burning white hot slick air that pulsed and grabbed at the throat and the pen was writing out the words and the sound, oh, the sound as those metallic hands etched in and cut out. The Jew jerked his head to the side at the memory, at the disgustingly vile thought, his eyes taking in the windows covered with such thick drapes. He didn't recall looking back, but he was, and he couldn't see inside, and knowing who was home and who wasn't, he knew he didn't need to be seeing that. Swallowing hard, then, he ignored the acid churning in his stomach as sweat ran from his neck to his back. Kyle's knuckles were blanched as he removed himself from the presence of the house with the windows to nowhere.

The compressed embers within burst into open flame, washing his mind in a blinding haze of licking fire. A shaky breath was drawn in, where the taste of dirt lingered, and then exhaled in a breath of sweet candy. The heat of his flesh descended in steady intervals there after as his emerald eyes traced honey lines over the pavement. The taste of sweet danced over the melting embers within, drawing Kyle's mind seductively away from the darkness. His mind was overcome by the moonless waters of the evening as the honey demanded his attention. A smile traced its way over his lips as he pulled those wicked orbs from the depths of the empty waters. A surge of heat brought to mind the Nazi with the honey eyes of light topaz orbs in a face so wickedly sweet.

Slowly, Kyle reached into his pocket. He pulled out his green cell phone from it and flipped it open with his thumb. The image of a golden Star of David blinked up at him as he switched screens and pulled up his messages. His eyes read over the short, haunting words from the depths of the depraved. A melody danced along his mind, the words of the card game leading to the ballroom floor singing into the air. The lingering frightened feeling faded with the warmth that came from reading those words. Softly, Kyle smiled to himself before he snapped the phone shut again.

The message vanished as if it'd never been.

From the opposite side of the world, Kyle heard footsteps heading in his direction. His head turned to see Eric Cartman strolling up the sidewalk, his hands folded behind his cropped locks. The Jew watched him walk over without an ounce of surprise for the sudden arrival. Rather, he apathetically tilted his head upwards as the Nazi made his way over. While Kyle appeared empty towards the meeting, Cartman seemed quite the contrary. He cast the redhead a catty smile as he waved, coming to a stop in front of the steps to the Broflovski home. There was a second where Kyle took in the washed out jeans and the black tee with some repose. The next, his mouth was tense and his eyes were hardened. Still, Cartman was immune to his less than charming welcome.

" 'Sup, Jew?" the Nazi happily greeted him, holding his hand up in a half wave. The action was as feminine as anything, although it somehow managed to seem less than girly. Kyle considered not acknowledging the greeting. However, the lick of heat over the back of his neck prompted him to speak.

" Hey, Cartman," he casually said, his head turning away in the same motion in which it titled towards the heavier boy. Cartman waved his hand off to the side in a flitting motion that meant nothing in actuality. For the moment, though, it was a cast away thought, a discarded idea, that wasn't addressed by the either of them. Instead, the Nazi directed his eyes to the unbearable sunshine that seared the world around them.

" Why're you outside on such a pretty day?" Cartman asked plainly, without a notable emotion to his sweetly falsified tone. The texture of those words was similar to sandpaper, as they were hollow, dead, and flat. A shiver slipped down Kyle's back as he arched an eyebrow. There was a tension brewing within, as he raised his emeralds up to those sugar eyes observing his every motion with a hungry stare.

" Most people are outside on pretty days, Cartman," Kyle hissed in a less than impassioned tone. He felt the pressure along the inside of his blood, piercing into his throat, but he didn't see an invitation. The brunette smiled again, his body language as deadpan as his fake voice. The Jew's throat went dry. The heat was running over his flesh, as he waited in stiff silence. A finger was pointed down at him in a strikingly cold manner that sparked his white hot lusts for rivalry.

" Not you,"

What a calmly, callous answer, really.

" What'd ya mean, 'not me'?" the Jew sneered in rising timbre which unwittingly reflected the rush that overthrew his faintly disappointed memories. Cartman leaned back slightly, his smug smile tracing burning fingers through the redhead's blood. A pulse of roaring, screaming fire threatened to ignite their conversation in hesitating wait.

" You're always inside," Cartman replied effortlessly, his shoulder shrugging away the burning words of the other. Kyle felt a sick punch to the embers restrained against his desire to debate. The teasing notion of the lighthearted Nazi was nearly too much to bear as Cartman shifted his girth from one foot to the other, his hand tossing away the invitation Kyle longed for, " Readin' an' shit,"

" I have a job, okay?" Kyle snapped defensively, his hands gripping the chocolate. Quickly, he glared off to the side as he heard a dejected sigh. The emeralds eased back over to see those honey orbs cascade into a beautifully mastered eye roll of sheer 'whatevah'.

" Yeah, I know. It's a stupid job. Keeps you busy," was the faintly unimpressed answer presented in place of the biting spitfire Kyle had expected. Cartman even coupled it with a knowing smile reminiscent of leather and lace, ice and fire, the moonless nights of burning hell mixed with endlessly frozen waters. That smile, that deathly ghastly smile, enraptured the soul suddenly ablaze within Kyle. Fire delighted his flesh as he slipped his shoulders up, his body melting backwards to gain a heightened look at the intoxicatingly devious stare cast over his Jewish curves. A light, barely there, smile moved over his wet lips as he saw the way Cartman grinned down at him with such delicious tease.

" I'm always busy anyways," the redhead moved to strike before drawing in a breath. Thinking better of it, for the desperation to be invited instead of holding out his own slender hand, he puckered his lips and poised his own burning, tantalizing withdrawal, " What's it matter if I'm at work or at home?"

" It's hard to bother you at work," Cartman innocently explained with an absentminded shrug that was a lie in and out of itself. Kyle saw that and he saw so much more in the way those tasty eyes watched his every motion. There was tension twirling through the air on fire, performing the waltz they were both tip toeing around, their gems awaiting the hand that they were refusing.

" You do pretty damn good job anyways," the Jew snarled, his teeth bared in venomous threat. The snide remark melted in the fires between their universes as they both chided the other in everything but words. The withdrawal was withholding all the emotion, but Kyle drowned in the bubbling magma all the same. He felt the scorch in his blood as he wet his lips in a toying manner.

His words were so wicked, they had to be received.

The Nazi shrugged, folding his arms behind his back in a truly arrogant way. Kyle opened his mouth to sneer another harsh, off collar comment to further gather his chances at the dance he had been dying for since last he had seen this particular racist. Instead, his voice was stolen. A touch of burning hot, frozen wind washed over his skin in the telltale pressure of the cold fingers of death walking over him. Those eyes, those damning eyes, they darkened to a sickness of color whose shade was inhuman. There was a penetration to their stare that was total exposure. When they eased like honey from Kyle's bloody red curls to his leather bound boots, they gripped his very flesh and held on with a pressure so real, it drew from the Jew's mouth a shallow, halting gasp. They moved over him four times. Every time was a confirmation in stillness, in cold, unadulterated precision the likes of which Kyle had never experienced. His body stiffened to the enthralling revel of such an examination before he choked on his words, on the very air itself. Doing so, however, caused Cartman to smile in a grin so twisted, it marked a new measure of the word in physical terms.

Yet, there was no hand held out to the shivering Jew.

" Didja hear 'bout BeBe?" Cartman calmly asked, unfolding his arms and motioning off in the vague direction of the Stevens girl's house. Kyle nearly passed out from the shocking shift from their prelude to the completely irrelevant gossip at hand. In truth, he fumbled his words as his emeralds narrowed in wild confusion. As he realized that Cartman hadn't tried to pursue him, though, the confusion was quickly replaced with a much stronger emotion.

" What about BeBe?" Kyle spat out in fresh rage at having been denied. The bite slipped away, lost to the Nazi who didn't appear to sense it. Cartman coyly gave the vicious gaze the cold shoulder as he continued to deflect from the screaming match Kyle was itching for.

" She's 'sleeping' with Token," he informed the redhead, making air quotes as he said the presumed truth of the hearsay. Failing to find interest in this, Kyle broke off a tiny chunk of the candy bar. It was slightly melted, but he didn't mind as he ate it. His slender shoulders shrugged, as if he wasn't sure what to say.

" Isn't Token dating Wendy?"

" How should I know?" the racist questioned without needing to question. Kyle knew this, from too many conversations containing the same sort of words and directions. Thus, he didn't say anything. All the same, Cartman answered himself, as he so typically did when talking of others, " Wendy and I aren't friends,"

" You're not friends with BeBe or Token either," Kyle spitefully reminded him, pointing up at the heavyset boy. Cartman waved off the notion as though it meant nothing to him. It probably didn't, which was disappointing to the mildly angered Jew. He wanted to thrust an insult in hard enough to draw blood to get his pretty honey rival to take the bait and throw him onto the ballroom floor for the next round of their endless tango.

" Yeah, but BeBe's bff is a gossip," the brunette responded, unaffected, as Kyle expected. Kyle pursed his lips in a physical effort to restrain the scream coursing through his enflamed blood. Cartman smirked down at him, his eyes glittering with common knowledge to what he was withholding by this frustratingly petty discussion.

" You?" the Jew scoffed in what he knew was a weak attempt. The Nazi wasn't impressed in the slightest. He fluffed back his elegantly styled hair and gave a short laugh as cold as the wind that had swallowed the flames.

" No. Clyde,"

" You're not friends with Clyde either," Kyle snapped, gesturing to the wide belly of the other. Cartman gave a crystal cold smile as hard as ice, as sharp as the razor that drew the blood fires from the Jew suddenly frozen from the simple implications of that malicious grin. That pull, that desire, to pierce into that smile and draw out the bile nevertheless drew harsh words from his dry mouth, " In fact, you're not friends with anyone in the entire graduating class except for Butters. And Kenny,"

" And you,"

The words scorched through the air like embers striking spilt vodka.

" We're not friends," Kyle firmly stated in the emptiest voice death had ever conceived. His eyes held the hollowness which resounded through the entire solemn death which consumed the whole of his being. About him, he was surrounded by the darkness that flooded his senses like a white out of the senses. Left dead, he slowly closed his eyes, only to open them to the blinding sunlight in a shockingly sudden burst of realization that time had not ceased.

" I have ways," Cartman airy expressed, shrugged and waving his hands in the same fluid motion. Kyle blinked and frowned, the emptiness fading faster than it had come. He gave the Nazi a look of reproach he had learned from that same Nazi.

" You're a gossip. That's your way," was the curt reply he offered the brunette. If Cartman heard the bite, he ignored it with professional ease, for there was nothing that changed about his whole person.

" Yeah," he almost laughed when he agreed. Rather than actually do so, though, he merely grinned down at the Jew with perverse enjoyment written clearly in his honey eyes. He didn't dare hide the intrigue from his falsely sugar timbre, " So, tell me what's up,"

" Why? So you can go an' tell anyone who'll listen?" Kyle hissed without an honest need to do so. The question was a buffer, a shield from answering the suggestion. He shouldn't have blocked, of course. He saw the gleam which befell those eyes as Cartman heard the open ended questions too. The answer he gave them was simple and honest, as the Jew knew it would be.

" No,"

" Then why the hell do you wanna know?" he barked although his timbre didn't change in pitch, only strength. The demand wasn't met by rough words, however. To his utter surprise, Cartman's eyes sank into a darkness which echoed a frozen hell without end. The murderous intention there was powerfully real as the Jew found his breath scarce. Those topaz stones moved over the length of Kyle's body with a heaviness that frighteningly mirrored that of before. Shivering, shaking, Kyle hesitatingly broke off a piece of chocolate and pushed it into his mouth. The sweetness did nothing to ease the tension.

" 'Cause it's you," the Nazi cooed as his eyes slipped back into their honey disposition. A sliver of ice remained in them, though, and it was not something Kyle missed as he rubbed one hand over his arm, " I like knowin' about you,"

" Freak,"

" You're the Jew here," Cartman haughtily teased, flicking his wrist in the direction of Kyle's curls. The shivering cold Jew swallowed enough of the fiery air to grit his teeth in rage at the commonplace mockery. He flipped the bird and hissed the only answer he had to such a normal insult as of the last eleven years of his young life.

" Fuck off,"

" Gimme a bite," the brunette completely sidetracked from the rising fight as effortlessly as he did anything in his life. His eyes showed no remote awareness of having done so, though. Somehow, that made the fires pulse with much more fury than the real dismissal.

" Hell no," Kyle couldn't keep his building rage from his voice. The white heat spilled out with vengeance, spiraling down through his timbre like an infection unchecked. His body was caught in the crossfire, for his eyes fell into the depth of the pitch black hatred for this game as his fists clenched slightly. The worse, though, came with his snarling response to the request, " The last thing you need in this world is more chocolate,"

" Just a bite?" Cartman wasn't asking so much as he was baiting. His smile held all the answers and none of them as he gazed down through the haze of smoke. A flare hardened Kyle's entire expression as he gripped tightly the bar resting in his lap.

" _No. _You'll eat the whole damn thing," he hissed, allowing his fury to slice into his words like knives. There was nothing within them, though, to cause the Nazi to push forth into the dancehall. He continued to grin as Kyle growled deep in his throat, jabbing a finger in the direction of that overfed stomach, " I know this whole routine. I've known you since we were _four _Cartman,"

A step forward was taken as the smile disappeared in a minute look of vile disgust for the same routine Kyle bared his teeth at. Cartman's knuckles blanched as his anger engulfed his honey orbs for a second. A second, though, was all it lasted as Kyle defiantly cast a glare upon that face. Again, a denial, for the Nazi let out a sigh. He flexed his fingers before running them through his loose hair. The step was not taken back. Still, there was nothing left to strike at, for the look that held fast in those sugar sweet stones was not the deathly poised stare Kyle was longing so passionately for. Thus, Kyle exhaled a sigh himself as his eyes moved to the side in remote, isolated self pity. Removing it from his pulsing heart, however, Kyle angrily jerked himself onto his feet. He didn't address the racist before him, watching him. He merely looked down the street, past that broad shoulder, in search of his best friend.

Stan was nowhere to be found.

" You share your other chocolate," Cartman idly reminded him, flitting his hands through the air to ensnare the attention he didn't need to try to receive. Those emeralds decidedly stared away, down the block, to avoid being so much closer to the toxic pleasure of seeing the hands of death in those innocently shaded eyes.

" My other chocolate is free. This costs money," Kyle slowly, softly, said, his eyes raising steadily up to meet the topaz hue watching him so magnificently. A touch of burning heat lapped over his lips, drawing them into the briefest of smiles meant only for those decadent orbs, " I'm not giving it to you,"

" Why?" the response was dishearteningly childish in tone. The flames that overthrew Kyle made him snarl and jerk his head away as his eyes narrowed coldly.

" Because it's mine, dammit. That's why," he snapped in definite agitation to the merry-go-round playground he appeared to be caught in. Cartman snickered under his breath, his head lowering so that a dark shadow was cast about his already darkened eyes. The chuckle, however, was like the sound of an axe slamming into the neck of the condemned. It grabbed hold of Kyle before he could think of defending himself from the worse of it.

" Trying to get fat?"

The crescendo crashed down in an explosion of fiery thunder all around Kyle as he physically recoiled from the scathing hand which grabbed hold of his. His flesh was seared from his bone in the rush of boiling metal that all but consumed his throbbing heart. Yet, for all the fire, there was nothing to be said in acceptance of such an all foreboding request. The tremendous music that deafened the smile of the man bowed before his wide, horrified, disgusted, enraged emeralds was the sound of his own heart. He wanted to scream, to grab that hand and slam it's beautifully formed knuckles into a stake. There was nowhere to go as the music slowed to an eerie silence, those honey eyes gleaming through the haze which bound Kyle to the spot. He neither accepted, nor declined, in his state of unparalleled shock.

Cartman didn't await his reaction to make his next move into the waltz. He reached through the fire and tried to snatch a piece of the chocolate. A trap, it was poised so perfectly, that Kyle felt his feet moving into the dance as that man swept him into the motions. He hardened his face as he quickly jerked the chocolate behind his back and out of the reach of the other. The look to his eyes was forced acceptance as the hatred coursed through the blaze.

" You can just go now, _okay?_" Kyle breathily hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping that candy with everything he had within. He desired nothing more than to leave this man. Still, he couldn't, for the invitation was far too intoxicating as he felt himself swept up in the dance he had so deeply wanted to fall into. Cartman appeared to know this as he smiled with noticeable pleasure written about his wildly malicious eyes.

" You're so sensitive," Cartman whispered in a passionately sweet voice as he tilted Kyle's face up a fraction of an inch. The fire within scorched through the restraint and the Jew felt a burning sensation rip apart his throat in a vain attempt to stop the fury of the words in his throat. He quivered in the fiery touch of those delicate fingers, thus catching his words in a mixture of shrieking hatred and fumbling heat.

" Fuck you, okay? The last thing you need is chocolate, so don't even with me!" he screeched, his voice breaking even between a hiss and a scream. There was tension there which shone through as his body was spun through the motions of a altogether new dance. Cartman beamed down at the eyes fighting so hard to remain poised over those viciously hungry orbs of sugar.

" Says you," the Nazi whispered without a trace of honey to his light timbre. Every word was a piercing needle that thrust into Kyle's heart and spilt his blood over the ballroom marble floors. Kyle felt his body flare in ecstatic ember the moment when Eric pushed a finger into the weight gathered at his waist. The touch was like fire personified, the words like lust verbalized, " You're getting chubby,"

" Like _hell _I am!" the Jew roared, his voice breaking through the barrier. He yanked out of that hauntingly warm grip in his vile disgust for such statements. Cartman was wholly unaffected. Rather, he was deeply engaged to the reaction, drawing closer for it with a familiar smile wrought with empty promises.

" You are. Lookit yourself," he breathed out slowly, sweetly, as he pinched Kyle's plump cheek. The emotion consuming those gestures was too much for Kyle. He smacked that hand away with every fiber of his enflamed body, his eyes falling to darkness. An expression of pain was uttered as the Nazi gazed down at the bloody red mark splashed about his hand. A small shake of said hand was given before that same deathly sweet smile coursed about those lips. Cartman reached forth again, only this time, he wrapped his finger about a curl and twirled it with frightening amusement, " It's cute,"

" SHUT UP! I'm _not _gaining weight!" Kyle screamed, his body shaking uncontrollably in his desperate effort not to fall to the inferno pressing into the blood already engorged in fire. Still, he couldn't stop himself. He slapped that tender hand away with a hollow smack before pointing an accusing finger at the mildly shocked face of the other. The fire rolled out as he grabbed hold of his rival and jerked him into the motion of his own hellfire, " And really, you're not one to talk!"

Everything cascaded into a truly physical stillness. The words crashed into the air with splatter effects which broke through the flesh like glass breaking. Cartman's whole being went utterly motionless, though his eyes befell a darkness of sheer rage. There was a second without a response, without a word exchanged, where the music ceased to play, the dancers ceased to move, and the floor ceased to exist. There was no fire, no flame, nothing to strike against. Kyle was left in a frozen realm, his eyes staring at a blank emptiness, for that was all he found in those orbs. They were hollow, a hollow unlike anything else. Death itself could not have stolen Eric any more than at that moment when he ceased to be. There was not a word to express the horror which washed over the Jew when he entertained the shocking realization that his counterpart was not within those sweet, luscious eyes. Then, with the smallest shake of the head, those eyes returned to the depths of pulsing, engulfed hell. Gritting his teeth, the Nazi snatched up Kyle's wrist with a grip like the hands of death himself.

" Fuck you, Jew!" he shouted with a voice as painfully furious as the grip which threatened to shatter Kyle's wrist. The Jew cringed, struggling to get away as his arm was jerked up, twisted, in blind rage which he felt dancing along his skin in a burning melody. A gasp escaped his mouth as he yanked his arm back only to have it gripped that much tighter.

" Ow! Let. _Go,_" Kyle ordered, his body sinking back to pull his screeching wrist from that hand which held it. Slowly, he raised up his sharpened emeralds in a heavy, cold stare oozing a bleak darkness from the core of his soul. Cartman gritted his teeth, his eyes flickering over the gaze which burned up from the abyss. Wetting his lips, then, Eric released the Jew's arm. A deep impression of those fingers was left, but the pain vanished in a white wash of blackened hatred.

" You're just pissed you're gettin' fat," the Nazi snarled, a smirk laced with arsenic forming on his face. There was sickness to that pleasure, to the joy derived from that lingeringly horrid statement. The fire swallowed it and the embers bred from such fury drowned Kyle in a blindness so pure, it was whiter than whiter, hotter than hell in all the unholy manners. Pain soared through the racing blood within as the scream broke free the restraints.

" I'm _not GETTING FAT! SO JUST SHUT! UP!_"

The words cascaded into uncontrolled movement that far exceeded the dance floor within the fire's den. Kyle's entire body yanked back before his fist slammed into Eric's arm with an incoherent scream stressed from the fire churning inside his blanketed skull lost to the delicious release. The chocolate clattered to the ground with an empty sound as Kyle clenched his teeth hard enough to feel it throughout his jaw. A jolt of pressure echoed from his knuckles as he gasped, his body beginning to shake as the fire pulsed to his every heartbeat. Beyond his sights, Eric flinched in morbid resolve, his feet stepping slightly back. Those honey sweet eyes were cut ice of the pools of death as they descended from the holy heavens to the shivering redhead forsaken. The pressure within struck the tension outside and they both cringed as their eyes, the stones of green and gold, met in the depths of darkness.

The hiss which penetrated this oblivion was such a pretty envelope.

" You're such a bitch,"

" DON'T CALL ME A FUCKING BITCH!" the Jew thundered, ripping one hand to the side. Those honey eyes watched for a second in heated hellfire before Eric blinked and his eyes left Kyle. There was nothing to be done. The fire expressed itself in a roaring agony as the redhead gasped and shook, his fists gripped tight to contain the rage building, bubbling inside like acid. His head lowered while his eyes widened from the thrust, the pull, locked within his throbbing skull. Every inch of his flesh tensed to withhold, to repress, that which demanded so much of his attention. For all his hysteria, Eric showed none of it. The calm that swallowed his mask of hatred was frighteningly unreal. Then honey befell horror and the step back was removed and a step forward was taken as two hands raised.

Eric smashed his palms into Kyle's chest with such a considerable force that the Jew nearly collapsed to it, both in stunned shock and pain alone.

" Don't fucking tell me what to do!" he screamed before he tasted the metal melding over the air in the burning desire to shriek, to damn, to destroy. There was nothing beyond those topaz orbs as the metal licked upon them both. Baring his teeth in unadulterated rage, Eric grabbed hold of those slender shoulders quivering beneath the unprecedented inferno inside. The Nazi thought not of the pain of doing so, however, as he slammed that Jew back, shaking him with every drop of the hell inside his empty eyes. He tasted it and he wanted it and Kyle felt it in every damning jerk, " Come on! Don't hold back, bitch! Fight back!"

Kyle gripped those wrists with determination to remove them. He found nothing within the molten core to allow him to do so. Rather, his jaw tightened, allowing his fingers to plunge down into the soft flesh holding him so furiously. His nails dragged along Eric's flesh while his head slowly, stiffly, painfully, shook from side to side. Another shake was given, one that racked his back with agony as he gasped into the engulfed air that pressed upon them with such hatred.

" You're pathetic. I don't know why I put up with you," Eric hissed without contempt, although there was nothing to his voice to suggest otherwise. His hands released those shoulders with a cast away look that cut through Kyle with a shocking jolt similar to the pain in his shoulders. The Jew tore his fist back, but caught himself, as the fire echoed in his emeralds, as he tried so desperately not to fall into the engulfment threatening to consume all he was and all he had ever attempted to be. That total annihilation, however, tainted the heated air between. When Kyle gasped, he felt it on his tongue, knowing that the Nazi did too. He barely saw Eric step back before there was a hesitation neither of them expected, " Fight BACK!"

The words couldn't possibly of hurt nearly as much as the slap which slammed across the Jew's face, but how they pierced into his burning soul.

Kyle unclenched his fists in the shock of it, of the strike that melted his face with fiery agony. Thick, fat drops of blood oozed off his slender fingers to fall to the porch. Slowly, his head lowering as he steadily breathed, the Jew raised up his hands in what felt like surrender. The holes plunged into his flesh from his grip shone in the hot summer sun, the blood seeping from them with a disgusting thickness. The blood smoothed down his wrists as the fire withdrew with a haunting lost of heat. Plunged into the depths of the lightless waters, Kyle felt the crack beyond his eyes before all hell smashed into his blood like a firestorm. A scream tore from his throat as his hands crashed forth into Eric's chest.

" DON'T _TOUCH ME! _" the words pierced through the air with every resounding crescendo of the music surrounding the ballroom burning in all the colors of the hottest hells. Blood smeared over Eric's chest, but he only gave what was needed in the way of space, stepping back to the pressure.

Eric laughed heavenly with all the maliciousness of the holy.

" There's my Jew," he exclaimed, cupping the face which glowered up at him in the worst fury. Those words, those words, they grabbed hold of Kyle as he felt them echoing from the depths of memories eaten by the inferno. His teeth bared and he yanked his body away from the gentle touch condemning him.

" YOURS? YOURS! I _DON'T BELONG TO YOU!_" Kyle roared, his hands gripping into the holes so that his fingers sank in the fire licking at every thought. Those topaz eyes hardened in their darkness as the smile vanished from that beautiful face. Kyle found nothing within for it. He grabbed up that silky shirt and he dragged his Nazi down to his level. When he spoke, his voice rolled with fire that melted into the air, " Put up with me? I'm the one that has to put up with you. And I'm about tired of it,"

The shirt was released as Kyle pulled back one hand into the depths of the embers quickening his pulse to such all consuming natures. His body shook then, as he fought against it, the darkness choking him in its attempt to drag him to his final collapse. Seeing those eyes, those man's eyes, from beyond the dance floor, a hand extended for his own, however, there was nothing left to see. His teeth gritted as his mind detached from his body in a breaking cascade of fire beyond the sense of the word. The element was all there was as all of the lives smashed into the blood of the screaming Jew, the Hebrew screeching into the air from beyond the grave, from the pit of the fire.

Eric felt the engulfing inferno break before he had time to react.

Kyle's hand connected with Eric's face. The slap left blood streaked there as it splattered into the air. The Nazi was still, his fingers reaching up for the briefest of seconds to touch the agonizing reveal of the internal workings of that gasping Jew. The sickness formed itself into a hellish smile, though, as he rubbed the thick blood from his cheek. His eyes glanced down at his cherry red fingers as a soft, haunting chuckle was given.

" My, you're feisty today," he teased lightly, although his voice was less than playful. Kyle closed his eyes for a second, shivering to the curling of his fire withdrawing from the present moment. A long, low breath was drawn in as the last shiver slipped down his spine. His eyes slowly opened then, in a dark gaze up at that grinning face with such sweet sugar eyes.

" Go _away, _Cartman,"

His voice trailed away without much emotion as his emeralds fell down on his hands still seeping their thick blood. Droplets fell from his knuckles to the cement below without a sound. The red was shocking against the grey stone. Wincing, Kyle bit down on his lower lip, watching that color fall from his hands. Before him, Cartman stepped close. The Nazi reached out and took those damaged hands in his own. He held one at a time, then, as he dabbed the wounds with his shirt until the clotting ceased the blood flow. Just as gently, he did the same to the other one. His touch was as tender as it was gentle. Cupping those delicate, little hands, Cartman leaned over and Kyle felt the kiss that never actually touched his head for the pause that followed. Rather, that Nazi smiled softly as he leaned away. The Jew drew in another deep breath as he returned his stare to his bloodied hands. Beyond the streaked remains of blood were light scars of a similar fashion. Slowly, Kyle turned his hands over and just gripped the edge of that stained shirt. He was not removed. Instead, he was lightly embraced as Cartman nuzzled his blood red curls, his fingers petting them with such tender love.

" I don't like it when you hold back," he whispered into those curls, his touch stroking Kyle's cheek just faintly. The redhead shook his head to nothing that was said, which was well known to the Nazi. When he stopped, his voice didn't address anything of this conversation. His words were not lost, though, to the ears that listened to his every breath.

" Stop it,"

" It worries me," Cartman idly said as he twisted a curl with a light smile resting on his lips. Kyle looked up at him, wrapping his broken hands in that shirt. He wanted to rest his head on the Nazi's chest, as his mind was dizzy from the spirally lost of control. He resisted, though, as he shook his head, feeling the gentle tug upon his hair.

" It never worried you before," he reminded him without ever mentioning the event itself. A light laugh was presented as a hand cupped his face. Kyle was then lost to those sweet eyes that traced every line of his young face. The warmth of those fingers was intoxicating as the embers found his blood with a cold chill that made him shiver, his emeralds desperately gazing at the honey he found so haunting.

" Things change, my Jew," he breathed out in that lovely voice of his. His finger stroked down Kyle's cheek before he gaze him that gorgeous smile of his. The Nazi was honest, in that moment, to which Kyle found himself falling back into the pools of the moonless waters. His curls were stroked, petted, as his hands released the tangled shirt.

Softly, gently, Kyle rested his hands on Eric's stomach with pained eyes.

" Not everything changes," he just barely uttered, his voice falling into the graces of hollow. The fire never embraced his words, leaving them cold and dead as they left his tainted tongue. Cartman withdrew slightly with a pouty expression that was almost as playful as Kyle's voice was empty.

" Ouch. Harsh,"

" The truth hurts," the Jew reminded him with the same timbre. Cartman frowned at the words, his head tilting to the side. Within moments, though, that frown was replaced by a certain wicked grin. He flitted his hand away from those softly curled locks to motion to the redhead's waist. His gesture was met with a harsh stare of pressing warning, which, of course, he ignored.

" Like the one about your weight?" he asked without real question to his voice. Kyle returned the statement with a jerk of his head that was meant for no one outside of his own mind. There was no doubt that the Nazi was well aware of the fact, for he never mentioned it.

" There's nothing about my weight," Kyle snapped with unmistakable finality. Cartman didn't seem remotely appeased by the sentiment. When he opened his mouth to protest, however, he was cut off as the redhead switched the conversation to something a bit closer to a home he was willing to discuss. He did so with a slight shrug of the shoulder and the beginnings of a callous smile, " Didn't you have a doctor's appointment today?"

" How'd you know 'bout that?" the Nazi wasn't asking, as his smile was all knowing and about as innocent as his darkly delighted eyes were. Kyle presented him with a similar expression, though his was tainted by much more arrogance. There was no need to address how he had, regardless of their innocent desire to dance about it anyways.

They both knew how he knew. They just also loved the push and shove of pretending they didn't.

" I have my ways," Kyle causally informed him, shrugging yet again. Cartman cast a hard stare away, towards the direction in which he had originally been heading. His voice was not nearly harsh enough to incline that he was really angry, but the amount of venom underlining it spoke volumes that were not for the two of them to discuss then.

" Fuckin' Butters,"

" Who said it was Butters?" the Jew pressured, adjusting his footing so that he was a fraction of an inch closer to the weight he drummed his fingers on. He cast that Nazi an off collar chuckle before looking away, his emeralds gazing down the street towards the train tracks. Never once did those topaz gems leave his face as he glanced back, " Could've easily've been Kenny,"

" Kinny didn't know," the brunette told him without any tease to the words. Still, he grinned as he watched Kyle look back up at him. There was a second where there was nothing said, nothing implied. Then, with all the firmness he had, Kyle admitted to everything without ever saying it.

" I don't talk to Butters," he assured him, staring directly into those sweet sugar eyes. The grin which answered his affirmation was as malicious as murder and just as horribly wicked. Cartman chuckled under his breath before he gave Kyle's plump cheek a tender, loving pinch.

" Careful," he warned him in a softly silk voice that slipped over the Jew's flesh like the hands of death. Cartman leaned closer still, pressing his forehead lightly into that of the shorter boy. Their eyes gazed deep into the others, lingering fire igniting the stare as they both grinned innocently, " People might think you're stalking me,"

" I told you. I work," was the only response given, spoken in a nearly serious tone that meant nothing to either of them. Cartman rolled his eyes with that expertise he had perfected long ago. Then, waving his hand in dismal, he leaned back so that Kyle was left feeling the ice of being alone.

" Whatevah," the Nazi spoke with a touch of absentminded finality, as if he didn't honestly care which way the Jew steered the conversation. The elegance in which he said it, though, drew from Kyle a soft, admirable smile. He nodded lightly, then, as his hands fell away from the heavy arch of Cartman's belly. The glittering emeralds stayed resting on it, however, as he shifted from one foot to the other. Cartman didn't seem to mind, for he said not a thing. The Jew drew in a heated breath after a moment as his eyes steadily raised to meet the sweet honey eyes which watched him looking at that girth.

" So?"

Kyle left the question without clarification. It wasn't needed.

" So what?" Cartman innocently chided, grinning that smile which had destroyed so many of this Jew's nights in a cold sweat and frightening moonless memory. Kyle played along with the route chosen, motioning with both hands to the Nazi who seemed to content to infuriate him. The lightest brush of heat washed over the back of the redhead's neck as he gave nothing away in his poised questions.

" What's the damage?" he tried again, without using the words he felt pressed into his sick tongue. Cartman shrugged idly, holding his hands out in a cast about way that was mimicking his childish manner of teasing the other.

" 'Bout twenty bucks. Co-pay, you know?" he said with that same smile. A rush a fury fell into the blood of the Jew as he jerked a hand from his side. He jabbed it at that fat face with a noticeable measure of rage to the motion. His anger wasn't acknowledged, for the Nazi grinned at him like he was truly enjoying the show.

" Not what I meant and you know it," he spat out venomously, his hand jerking back to his side in a cutting motion that was as tense as the air dripping off him. Cartman gave him a fake little look of surprise before his eyes melted beyond the sugar and straight into the iced chill they held when he held someone under. He gave a slow, low laugh that rolled over Kyle's flesh like burning flames scorching into his very essence.

" Oh? What did you mean, Kahl?" the Nazi darkly asked in a slow, honey sweet tainted voice as cold as the ice hardening his eyes. Kyle was lost for a word to express his desire to back up as that formidable rival of his leaned down, grinning as he waited for a way to string up the little Jew. A deathly cold rush swallowed up the fear, however, and Kyle was left shivering in his own inferno burning within. He hissed out the question without formality and without any more warning to its existence. He was getting trapped up in this spider's web, lest he be slaughtered in the hellfire of falling into it.

" How much do you weigh?"

" This again?" Cartman plainly said, leaning away as if he hadn't heard the question long before it was uttered. There was a lack of interest for the discussion with hinted at total removal of that sugary damnation. Kyle gritted his teeth to the white fury of such an idea. He shook his head, waving his hands to either side as he stepped a bit closer. There was determination wrought in his voice, despite the fleeting fear that flashed through the embers.

" I wanna know," the Jew stated firmly, hands clenched at his sides. Cartman gazed down at him with a lick of contempt, although there was a hint of amusement that seemed to overshadow it. There was not, however, an inkling provided for the origin or intent of either emotion, " How much do you weigh?"

" I gotta get to Butters'," Cartman said instead of addressing the repeated question. He gave a lovely roll of honey as his hand waved off the question with a certain air of resolve not to discuss this further. As he turned to leave, though, Kyle felt his fire jump through his blood. His hand grabbed up that plump wrist, holding fast and hard enough to gather him a disapproving stare.

" Wait,"

" Yes, Kahl?" the Nazi implored, raising his eyebrows in what was obviously mock interest to whatever it was that Kyle might have to say. Slowly, the Jew released the other, his emeralds darting from side to side in frantic desire to find something to say. A flare of fire jolted his mind and he ripped his harsh stare back up to the sugary look he was being given.

" Maybe I can give you something you want," he suggested with a faintly enflamed smile of devious intention. The look cast his way was nothing flattering, but it couldn't diminish the smirk snaking its way onto his fair face.

" Like what? You? Not interested," Cartman further accented the statement by a sweeping motion of hand that was notably dismissive of the emotion he might have even remotely felt towards the attempted bribe. Kyle was not deterred, for he quickly shook his head. The churning fires within swallowed the insult for a later day as he raised his hands to the weight gathered at the other's wide waist.

" No. Something. . . more your style," Kyle offered, his eyes never leaving the blood stained shirt stretched heavily over that stomach. Eric arched an eyebrow and gave a chuckle, his hand motioning to the side in a word that was never verbalized. Kyle heard it resounding in the playfully coy words presented to his offer.

" I doubt you could afford _my _clothes," he assured him, resting his hands on his hips in a wholly arrogant stance. Within the Jew, he felt the tightly wound molten core unfurling as his blood burned. Taking in a deep, heated breath, Kyle moved his eyes back to the grinning face observing him.

" I'll give you chocolate,"

" You already do," Cartman reminded him with an absentminded shrug that meant nothing. Kyle wasn't put off. Rather, he smiled with all the fire brewing deep within his rushing blood. He moved his hands to emphasis his point, though they didn't move in any real direction.

" Expensive chocolate,"

" Like the one on the ground?" the Nazi questioned, pointing down at the discarded slab of chocolate forgotten on the steps. Kyle turned his eyes towards it as Cartman made a face, waving his hand in front of his curved belly, " No, thanks. Been there, done that,"

" You've eaten chocolate off the dirt?" Kyle repeated in honest surprise, his eyes widening as they jumped from the candy up to the bored expression of the Nazi. Cartman gave a shrug while the Jew glanced to the side in isolated confusion, his mouth repeating the statement. Looking back, he crossed his arms over his chest, " I thought only Kenny did that,"

" Eh. It was a dare," he explained without explaining further. Kyle blinked, almost waiting for the rest of the answer he already knew wasn't coming. Again, Cartman waved off the notion, " It sucked. No, thanks, Jew,"

" I have another one up in my room," the Jew assured him, pointing offhandedly towards one of his bedroom windows. Cartman looked upwards, towards the window gestured to. When he looked back down, however, there was a definite smirk to his callous expression. A gleam danced over the sugar of his eyes as he thumbed towards the window with the dark, heavy curtains in green.

" Did you jus' invite me to your room?" his voice was darkly mischievous as his eyes narrowed with poised delight. A wall of fire seared through Kyle's soul, jerking him backwards and his hands up to fight against nothing that could do him any true harm. His voice poured out like burning water, for it struck the air with defiant fire and scorched the both of them in its desperate fury to be heard for the desperation in which it was wrought.

" No. I didn't," he spat out, despite the truly dead expression on his face. The hollow look to his emeralds was fearful to observe. To Kyle's horror, he saw Cartman looking at him with intrigue. Ending it quickly, he shook his head and jabbed a finger at that massive waistline, " I offered you candy because I wanna know how fat you've gotten,"

" And why should I tell you? You'll tell everyone," Cartman sneered, the honey of his eyes glancing one last time towards the room he was denied from accessing. Kyle drew in a harsh breath of noted frustration, his hands clenching at his sides. The Nazi eyed him with mute amusement, although there was a lingering sense of removal from the moment.

" I didn't tell them last year. Or the year before that. Or the year before that. I don't know why I have to bribe you this time, actually," the Jew snarled, his agitation clearly expressed in every spat out word. Cartman didn't seem to be bothered by the mention. However, he did look down when Kyle motioned with both hands towards the rolling curve of that middle, " Then again. . ."

There was no need to finish the sentence.

" First of all," Cartman snapped, pointing down at the suddenly flustered Jew. He counted off the statements on his fingers, his rings glinting in the sunlight as they were tilted back, " I don't know that you didn't tell anyone. Secondly, you're a ginger, Jersey Jew, so I don't trust you without collateral,"

" You used to trust me," Kyle dejectedly muttered, looking at those rings tightly held on those pretty, blood stained hands. Cartman wagged a finger in his face, shaking his head with a lovely, falsified pucker of lip. The softest of smiles crossed over Kyle's lips at the look granted only for him as his cheek was pinched with great tease.

" Ginger. Jersey. Jew. I never trusted you," he chided him with all the good natured humor that he ever held for that certain Jew. Kyle blinked slowly, peering up at that shining expression through the blood stained curls that fell into his face. Through the depths of dark waters, he plunged like the corpse, his voice as hollow as death and as empty as the soul he had never seen in those topaz orbs.

" You did that one time,"

The words of taint cascaded into the freezing air between the two as Cartman's expression fell into the ice. His eyes left the trace of sweet in a drop to the deathly darkened topaz shade. There was nothing, however, to those gems. Not a trace of life resigned in them for a moment's breath, where Kyle shivered and stared in horror at the murder within. A small shake of the head, though, and those poised eyes were darkened with all the resentment of the Nazi's entire being. He gripped his hands tight, his teeth gritting in the rage that swam over his previously light eyes. Kyle almost withdrew, but there was no withdrawing words already spoken.

" An' look what happened,"

Kyle slammed his hands over his ears as he violently shook his head, stepping backwards and shaking badly. A rush of fire consumed his core as his breath caught and choked in his throat. He shook his head again, again, again, as he gripped his hair and bit down on his lower lip. Slowly, he steadied himself, staring through the crystals and the blood to that hauntingly empty face watching him relive that horrid day in the summertime so many years ago.

" I don't want to talk about it," he begged in a strangled voice, his knees threatening to buckle beneath the weight of that day. Eric stared at him without reproach, without love, without anything but the emptiness which had echoed throughout that house when the front door had slammed shut and everything had ended without a trace of truth between them. Kyle removed his hands and he almost reached out as he had almost back then. He didn't, though, for he heard the darkness in the words spat in his direction. Beyond them, he heard that younger voice snapping at him, at him for what he'd done then.

" Yeah, I bet you don't,"

" I made a mistake," Kyle softly whispered, his hands falling heavily to his sides. Cartman gazed down at him with a stare so powerful, it nearly crushed the Jew. Then, as if the words had never been spoken, as though the day had never been lived, the Nazi turned his head and waved it away with a flick of his wrist.

" So, I get chocolate? Expensive chocolate? What'd you give me last year?" he asked, glancing back without any lingering mention for the day they never talked about. Kyle drew in a cold breath that burned the back of his throat in spite. Exhaling softly, however, the hollow fear vanished to the ruling fires licking underneath.

" I bought you lunch," Kyle reminded him, his timbre returning to the callous sternness of before. Cartman seemed to take a moment to think about it, before he gave half a shrug that was almost unconcerned.

" Okay, fine. Deal,"

" Okay," Kyle repeated, taking in a deep, steady breath that was nearly painful to draw. He poised himself for the question, then just said it as he usually did, his voice nearly emotionlessly and blank, " How much do you weigh?"

" I want the chocolate first, Jew," Cartman interrupted, holding up one of his hands in a stopping motion. There was a second of silence as Kyle stared at him in bewildered shock, his eyes narrowing in said confusion. Unable to find the words, however, he said the only thing he could to fully express his utter disbelief to the demand made.

" What?"

" I don't trust you," the Nazi restated, his voice holding a unique mixture of contempt and amusement under the seriousness. The Jew, while impressed, neither acknowledged the emotion nor the statement. Rather, he jabbed a finger back towards the window that led to his green stained haven.

" I'm not going all the way to my room, because you won't be here when I get back," Kyle snapped without reserve for how cruel his voice turned out. Nevertheless, Cartman wasn't affected. He didn't seem to hear the tone as much as he tilted his head to the words. He gave a small chuckle as he pointed a finger at the glaring face of the shorter boy.

" You're pretty smart for a Jew," was the deflective answer presented to the question continuously left unanswered. Kyle refused the bait. Instead, he made a halting motion with both hands, allowing the fire to return to his darkened emeralds. He rested a damningly penetrating stare upon the seemingly unimpressed eyes that looked down at him.

" Look. Last year, I was good to my word. I took you out to lunch after you told me. I promise I'll go and get you the chocolate after you tell me," Kyle swore, holding up one of his hands out of childish habit. Despite the action, there was a strictness to his voice that was livid with liquid flames. The heat was unavoidable as it slipped from his tainted tongue to the air about them, " I don't break promises. You know that,"

The assurance was met with a pause. Cartman thought it over as Kyle crossed his arms over his chest in defiance to something that was neither mentioned or addressed. After the pause, though, there was an elegant roll of honey followed closely by a casual shrug that meant really nothing more than defeated agreement.

" Okay, fine. Whatevah. Deal,"

" Okay," Kyle stated with finality that expressed his desire to finish this. He nodded his head before taking a last deep breath. Slowly, he exhaled, holding out his hands as though bracing himself for something he wasn't ready for. All the while, Cartman looked upon him with empty eyes, " How much do you weigh?"

Silence filtered into the heated air as Cartman sighed heavily and seemed to find nothing to say towards to expectant look the Jew was giving him. The break of the emotionless look, however, frightened Kyle. He saw a flicker of contempt, then the all consuming look of slight fluster as those eyes closed to the answer. A sharp breath was taken, though, and all vanished in a slamming halt. When those honey eyes opened, Eric was as calm as he ever was, his eyes darkened in vile disgust for having to say something that his voice said he didn't even feel within his dead soul.

" Three eighty three,"

Horror befell the Jew as he recoiled from the Nazi with emeralds written wide in shock. He gaped at the empty emotions observing his reaction with stifling indifference. Slowly, Kyle mouthed the numbers he choked on as his head swam in a sudden drowning pool of hollow nothingness. He motioned to nothing, lost inside himself to an emotion without a name. Within seconds, he was nothing, but he spoke in a voice from the grave. An emotion of cold sickness ensnared his senses as he stood still, his eyes staring forever at the face that bore him nothing in the way of comfort to the still fear of his thudding heart.

" What?"

" Three eighty three,"

The stare of the Jew rested heavily on those topaz eyes, begging for words that would never been spoken to him in a sweet voice. There was nothing presented to him, leaving him the hollow disease eating through his blood and reaching his mind. The life from his emeralds slowly diminished as he stood there, frozen in place, to the rotten illness which robbed him of his very breath. A moment passed in which the Nazi continued to stare, before his head tilted in mute realization that Kyle had slipped into his familiar state of shock. Before anything could be done, however, a tremor slid down the redhead's back. His eyes raised to those honey one in solemn fear.

" You're joking. . . right?" Kyle expressed in a faint voice, his eyes softening to the emptiness which looked down at him. His voice did nothing to change the look presented in answer to the question he had pressed for.

" No,"

The word was left to the frozen air about them, for it was meant with a long stance of silence. Kyle found himself incapable of processing it as he slowly hugged himself for the warmth of his own flickering embers. Cartman poised no assurance nor any ease to the frozen abyss in which they were both quickly descending. The fires within soon were not warm enough to save the Jew from the frost which licked over his flesh in a hauntingly familiar way. Refusing the memory of the summer day, he slightly whispered the only answer he found within his trapped mind.

" . . . Oh,"

The word fell heavily into the stillness as Cartman continued to look down at Kyle with that painful indifference. Then, suddenly, he smiled a shockingly pleased smile as he reached through the void to reach the dying flames of the Jew. He lightly, tenderly pinched Kyle's plump cheek with all the tease of before.

" You'll bring the chocolate to my place later?" he asked with all the command of an order. His honey words ripped through Kyle like shards of shattered glass, but he couldn't find the fire to express anything outside the numbness which had overtaken his mind. Slowly, then he looked up at those eyes as his cheek was steadily warmed from the lingering pain of the pinch.

" . . . uh-huh. . . ."

" Funny how things work out, huh, Kahl?" Eric teased with all the dark sweetness of his disgustingly vile nature as he gave one of those bloodied curls a tug. Smiling his disturbed smirk, he petted those curls with a tender touch. Then, without another word, he strolled on by, heading down the block in the way in which he had been heading to begin with.

Watching him leave, Kyle slowly collapsed down onto the blood splattered steps of his wishfully empty house on that sunny summer day. His body was an empty numbness that was unimaginably painful to experience, although there was not a thing he could do to rid himself of the agony. Slowly, he began to chew on his index finger, drawing his legs up a few more inches. His emeralds stared off into the distance without ever taking in the horizon. The blankness left his face empty of all emotion, as he felt nothing to begin with. To the consuming waters, he did fall, leaving not a trace of the remains of his murder.

Beyond his eyes, he heard the words of the past dancing along the gorily ember bound ballroom floor with the black floors like a moonless, motionless lake. Those vile words that forever tainted his tongue lingered in his mind like a memory repressed seeping back forth to be painfully reviewed by a mind that had never recalled it before. He saw the honey eyes of that face, staring at him with the only ounce of trust they had ever found within that green bedroom. The words of the confession, the terrible confession, found their way to Kyle's mouth then as he sat there, five years later. Squeezing his eyes shut to the tears, he bit down against saying them. They never should have been said then, they shouldn't be said ever again. He choked on them, but he would not repeat the words Eric had whispered to him the night they had kissed for the first time.

He never should have asked.

Through the faded traces of the nightmare, Kyle heard footsteps making their way over. Glancing over, he saw dirty sneakers and ink stained jeans approaching before he heard the massively loud voice of the greeting he had heard a million times before. Somehow, right then, it didn't sound human.

" Hey, dude. What's up?" came Stan's voice as Kyle slowly raised up his head to see the activist standing before him. His friend waved down at him with happy energy that began to steadily fade as the Jew tilted his head towards him and towards the light of the day that didn't know.

Blood dripped from his lips, from his teeth, from the gaping wound on his hand from the missing flesh.


	10. Watchful Eyes

The red droplets of blood splattered soundlessly to the lightly blue tiled floor of the upstairs Marsh bathroom. Stan watched them fall in frozen stillness, his breath shallowly striking the air between where he stood and Kyle sat on the rim of the tub. Thick, dried streams glistened in the florescent lighting as they stained the pale flesh of the Jew's wrist. From new, skinner threads, the drops fell in quick succession. Their stunning color cut through the air before they crashed into the clean floors below. The activist watched them fall without a word. He didn't know what could be said as he unfurled the gauze bandages kept beneath the sink. Kyle kept his head lowered, his curls of familiar red color blocking the view to his blanched expression. This bandage, Stan draped about the mutilated digit of his best friend's right hand. A sickeningly iced emotion similar to disgust, coupled with faint acknowledgement, spread within as Stan's fingers felt the missing piece of skin and flesh. Glancing up from his handiwork, his aqua orbs traced the blood over those tight jeans to where two red smeared lips gasped in apparent agony.

There was no need to mention the obvious fact that Kyle had bitten off part of his own finger.

Lowering his eyes, then, Stan fastened the bandages already tainting red to the hand shivering in his grip. He saw the Jew's knuckles whiten when he gritted his teeth. The activist recoiled slightly at the misplaced rage, for minute fear of being lashed at, before he eased forth again. A heavy weight pressed him forward, as he was far too dedicated to this unstable individual to run at a slight sign of anger. Kyle was a deathly enraged person and it was not a new fact. Yet, Stan found himself faltering in the comforting phase of this ritual. His words choked in his throat, as his eyes raced over the bandages to the blood on the floor.

Regret swam through the glacier blocking his words. Stan opened his mouth to plead nothing he could have ever expressed in verbal form. His hands trembled as they slipped forward to grab hold of those slender shoulders quaking in silent, internal hell. The draw of the words, however, was far too blood letting of a trial to force through the barricade. Rather, Stan felt his fingers dig into the shirt of his companion. Pain washed over Stan, cutting into his flesh with fresh hellfire the likes of which he has experienced only once before. Still, nothing came from it, but the worry of what he was seeing and what he wasn't. Frozen, he remained poised, staring through the self inflicted horror of being confronted with such bloody reminders of instability. As he gathered his breath, though, two striking emeralds raised through the frost to peer up at him with a condemning source of burning fire. The ice slipped down his spine as a jolt when Kyle looked at him with such a frightening level of conviction.

Knowing not what else to do, Stan guided Kyle up from the rim of the tub. Kyle went willingly, leaning heavily into the activist as he always did when utterly defeated by his own devices. With one arm around the Jew's waist and the other holding his cupped hands, the other thus led them from the bathroom to the beaten bedroom door of his blue haven. He made quick work of getting them inside. Once there, he led Kyle to his bed, where he sat him down without argument. Kyle sat there, his hands resting in his blood stained lap, while his eyes blankly stared at nothing. The vacancy there was hauntingly similar to the look Stan had seen many times before down at the edge of Stark's Pond during many summers. The sudden memory of blood splashed over rocks clutched Stan's mind for only a second before replaced by the image before him of his suffering friend.

" Jesus Christ, Kyle," he whispered softly. The words cascaded into the air with a loud crash of glass shattering. Although Stan found himself startled, the redhead didn't even shudder. Slowly, Stan smoothed his hands over those tangled curls in what was almost a possessed motion. His touch married with the maternal gesture of loving stroking without his consent. Gently, then, he eased the quivering Jew down onto the cerulean sheets. He carefully drew these sheets around the curled up form and tucked them around him. A soothing voice slipped from his lips with every sense of the soothing motion of water, " Don't worry. You'll be fine,"

Tucking those curls back, Stan pressed his lips softly to Kyle's forehead. Those emeralds closed only then, shutting that damaged soul from whatever else surrounded them. Kyle merely buried his face in the pillows of the activist's bed. There was desperation in the action. Yet, it was not the desperation Stan thought he ought to be seeing within the delicately destroyed body of the Jew. Biting his lower lip, then, he withdrew a fraction of an inch. He longed to question what must of happened to ruin the fiery fury he had heard on the phone only minutes before he had found Kyle tearing a piece of flesh from his finger. He knew names that might have played a part. He could even guess the method of destruction which had raped Kyle of his passionate nature and diminished him to such a state of incapacity. The words of question never left Stan's mouth. He choked them away, for he knew the answer was not his to pry.

Unfortunately well versed in this moment, Stan miserably recognized the unfurling embers touching the air as those hands gripped his sheets. Cautiously, he ran his fingers over Kyle's back in a slow, steady motion. Before he moved away, he pressed his palm down over the other's shoulder to apply as much warmth to that smoldering soul as he could manage to give. Nodding stiffly, he removed his lingering touch as he rose to his feet. A brush of raging inferno graced his flesh as he pulled his hand back. Another nod was presented as he rubbed his own arm in long, weightless strides.

" Will you be okay if I leave?" he solemnly asked, his eyes taking in the way the other shifted his body underneath the sheets. There was a moment of repose, where the question was left to be answered by the returning flush of hatred and rage. The voice that finally drew out from that lifeless body, however, was devoid of all sense of emotion. The emptiness resounded as hollow death as it spiraled heavily into the tension trickling between the bed and the activist.

" . . .Yeah. . .I think I'm just gonna. . . .go to sleep. . ."

" . . .Okay. . .I'll be back in a little bit," Stan muttered, turning from the bed where Kyle drew the sheets up a bit more. He took a few steps towards the door before he found his aqua gaze returning to the shaking form. His eyes moved over the way those fingers gripped the red curls and the way the light melded to the blood stains. A jolt of ice pierced through his very essence as the breath stole his words, " Call if you need me,"

" . . .Okay. . ."

With a curt nod in response, Stan flicked the light off and left the darkness without another cast away stare into the depths of human suffering. He dragged the door shut behind him. There, he stayed, his hand gripping the handle and his head back to rest against the wood. Hesitation robbed him of the ability to walk away. He knew he shouldn't leave, as he knew the fire brewing was one that shouldn't be dealt with alone. Yet, he knew that returning to that room was asking too much of Kyle. Eleven years of faithful friendship had in return granted Stan the unfavorable knowledge of the Jew's temperament. When cracks and breaks cut through that emotional inferno, Kyle would never express the pain when backed into a corner. Addressing the problem would never provide a solution. Kyle was a refusal waiting to happen, as he mended himself in the solitude of his own mind. Pressure applied to alter that had always resulted in wounding the help but never helping the wounds. Thus, Stan knew that he would never be allowed to attend to the scars within if he didn't allow Kyle a chance to heal what he could. Kyle wished to be alone, with himself and only himself, as he always did. It was a wish Stan granted with heavy heart and a furious desire to find someone, anyone, who could actually get the Jew to admit when he was damaged.

Sighing in somber acceptance, Stan headed away from the burning door of his bedroom and let his feet take him downstairs. The Marsh house was a quiet sanctuary, as no one was home outside of the two of them. A second passed where Stan lingered in the doorway, his hands holding the doorknob. His gaze followed the faint blood drops to the stairs before he flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. A scream echoed throughout the house with immeasurable volume as it collided with the world around it. The sound of wood breaking echoed after the shriek as crashes smashed into the shattering stillness. Fighting the urge to turn, to return to that boy, Stan slammed his fist into the doorframe. He heard a cry, a single sob strike the air in a plead for mercy from a Lord that never listened to the words of the four lost lambs of South Park.

The tears fell from his cheeks as he eased open the door to the sunshine of summertime. Stan wiped them away as he left Kyle to the memories of that day. He had never been told what had happened. He had never asked. He refused to go up those stairs and attack the sobbing Jew for what could never be reversed. Shutting the door on those days, when they hadn't known any better, when they hadn't seen those scars traced in the sand of a lakeside shore, he ran from the memories. His feet struck the sidewalk hard as he did, pulling himself from the sun of that tragic day and into the light of the day slowly fading before him.

He went to Kenny.

The lawn to the McCormick place was littered with empty vodka bottles and scattered with crushed boxes of poptarts. The trash had built up near the front door, where a rusted can without a bottom laid on its side. Stan looked over the debris as he absentmindedly knocked on the flimsy front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed part of the fence had fallen in again. The rotten pieces were tossed into the decayed backyard amongst the canisters of lighter fluid and gasoline. Hearing the lock clink open, he returned his aqua orbs to the door with its fragmented wooden solidarity of pieces.

Kevin McCormick stared through the darkness into Stan's soul.

Tuffs of striking brown hair streaked over the dirty forehead of the oldest of the seven children. Eyes cut from stone stared through a bruised face emaciated from years of poverty. There was nothing remotely salvageable in that harsh face, looking through the crack in the doorway to where the activist stood on the very edge of the steps. Slowly, the door was eased open as Kevin tilted his head to the side, revealing a long neck stained with red marks. Ghostly shadows befell his eyes as Stan looked to the cracked, broken knuckles on those filth stained fingers touching the wood with ginger lightness. Blood was under those fingernails. Swallowing a wave of frozen emotion, the activist looked back at the face that regarded him with obvious dislike.

" Uh, hey," Stan unsurely greeted the McCormick he had rarely ever spoken to. Kevin adjusted his gaze further into the pressing darkness, although he never once made a motion that acknowledged the presence of the younger boy. Nervously, the activist shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he idly pointed towards the house he could barely see into for the broad shoulders of the McCormick, " Is Ken here?"

" Bedroom,"

The word was venomously snarled as Kevin thumbed over his shoulder. He said nothing else as he left the doorway, leaving the door wide open to all advances and retreats. Stan hesitantly walked inside the damp world of the McCormick place, lightly pushing the door shut. The couch was overturned and pushed against what had at one time been a television stand. A pink child's coat was sprawled on the floor along with various elements of molding trash and glass bottles. Footsteps echoed in the heavy air as doors crept open and slammed shut like a soundtrack. Swallowing the bitterness lingering there, Stan stepped over the reminisces of a battleground as he turned his eyes to the only eye catching element.

Appearing from nowhere, the kitchen cut through the middle of the house like a festering wound. The white washed floors were a glaring omission from the dirty remains of the disastrous shambles of the rest of the house. The countertops were stuffed full of green, white, and brown bottles baring striking labels of varying degrees of proof. A single cooking instrument laid out on the grim laden stove. A bent, broken frying pan caked in burnt grease rested on the burner like a faint recollection of a family gathering. This black metal monstrosity stuck out of the white back splash like blood on the bathroom floor. It seemed to bleed itself as Stan looked upon it with a growing distaste for its out of place grimness. Drawing towards it, he reached the outer limits where the frayed carpet spilled into the cracked gray tiles of the blinding kitchen. There, however, he jerked back in utter recoil as his hand jumped away from the hellish, nightmarish reminder of days lost to the decay of the home.

Seated at the circular dining room table was Carol McCormick.

Her skinny back was facing him, protruding through the off white tank she was dressed in. The harsh straps of her blood red bra contained her chest as the shirt slumped off her skeleton form. Her hand rested on the neck of a vodka bottle, her knuckles bruised in multiple hues. The tangles of her red hair spilled down in front of her face, hiding her from view and him from hers. As he watched, she rested her head down on her forearm, her other fingers sliding down the length of the bottle as if the life was gone from her.

Leaving her as such, Stan left the living room with solid resolve never to look about it again. Instead, he made his way to the door in the back corner of the skinny hallway on the other side of the house. He didn't bother with knocking. He just pushed open the thing and walked inside his boyfriend's bedroom. Sprawled out on the bed was Kenny. His blond hair was splashed about his pillow, for his orange jacket was undone and left loose around his jeans and tee shirt. A dirty magazine was resting on his stomach as he flipped through the exotic poses of women dressed as leather bound hellcats. The breathtaking sapphires of the pervert glanced over with amusement as a sly, catty grin crossed those succulent lips. The activist strolled over to the bed and dropped down next to the lovely angel watching him with such interest for his unannounced arrival.

" Hey, Ken," the activist felt the ice melting down his flesh and into his blood with a pleasingly cold sensation of longing desire. There was a childish, almost innocent, chuckle from the blond. The sound made Stan lean down, pushing one hand into the hard mattress on the other side of those plentiful hips. Kenny folded the magazine over his chest with a pucker of lips.

" Hey, Lover Boy," he cooed out, tossing the dirty rag over the edge of the bed. Rolling onto his side, he pushed his tender lips against Stan's thigh, for that was the part of his boyfriend closest to him. A soft smile formed on the activist's cold expression as he lightly stroked his fingers over the side of his angel. Kenny grinned up at him through his messy blond hair with the beauty of the creature that he truly was beyond the dirt and grim.

Beneath the roughness of the worn clothes, Stan felt the softness to the poor boy's body. There was a radiating warmth of the skin and the plumpness of weight. Blinking in mild intrigue to the sudden shift from waist to hip, the brunette turned his aqua stare down. He rubbed Kenny's waist a little more, drawing his knuckles over the tightness at the hemline and the intoxicatingly soft thigh. As he did, his boyfriend rested his head in his lap, lovingly nuzzling his ink stained jeans in honest enjoyment of the physical contact. There was a moment where only the physical changes registered. Stan found himself incapable of discerning any visible changes in that luscious body as he had with his best friend's. Yet, as he rubbed his fingertips over the succulent curves, he began to see the wideness of those hips and the arch to that gorgeous bottom. Whereas he saw without seeing, he did feel the gentle rolling of the tiniest bit of weight at the hemline as he moved his fingers over his angel's side, his barely plump waist, his formidable hips, his plump thighs and back again. A light touch of a smile found his lips as he traced his hands up to the grinning cheeks of the poor boy. There, he eased his fingers into that mess of blond.

Slowly caressing those locks of gold, Stan found himself twirling one piece in a vaguely familiar manner of speaking. Just as it dawned on him whose action he was mirroring, his hand was smacked away with considerable force. The sound echoed in the air as Kenny stared at the activist's hand was mild distaste and muted confusion.

" Don't do that," the angel sharply ordered, his nose scrunching up in utter dismissal of the very idea. Stan, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the notion being addressed. Rather, he looked upon that pretty face with such fair features with a blankly empty expression.

" Do what?" he idly questioned, allowing his slightly throbbing hand to fall away from the tangled hair. His fingers fell to Kenny's waist, where he rubbed his knuckles over the soft flesh there. A dirty finger was jabbed at his hand in a manner reflective of true accusation.

" Twirl my hair," Kenny stated, turning his sapphire gems quickly to the side. The activist watched him do this, but he never mentioned the place he was staring. Removing his gaze from the boarded up window, the poor boy shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice had lost much of its initial bite, although the assertive quality was clearly discernable," I don't like it when people twirl my hair,"

" Really?" he asked as he nodded his head. His fingers traced over the worn out fabric of the dirty tee shirt stretched over the gorgeously shaped waist of his boyfriend. Feeling the less than firm flesh there, Stan slightly nudged the ratty garment up so that the lightly bruised skin was shown off in the glistening light trickling into the room. The pale skin was silky as his fingers slipped effortlessly over the faded, old purple marks and the flecks of glitter.

" Yeah,"

" Oh. I. . . hadn't noticed," the activist mumbled, staring down at the way the glitter caught and threw the light over the lines of that belly. Kenny giggled a bit, his body shifting to the way those fingers melted into the warmth dancing off him.

" Yeah, well, remember it," Kenny curtly stated through his light snickers, his hands running up the wrists of the other. Another nod was given in answer, although Stan honestly wasn't aware to what he was agreeing. He never mentioned the obvious fact that one certain Nazi was allowed to twist the blond locks of the poor boy. There was no need to, so he didn't say anything as he gazed down through the heat to the pretty boy looking up at him.

Turning his head to the side, Kenny yawned into the back of his hand. Slowly, he rubbed one eye as he rested his head against one of Stan's thighs. The motion was loving in its seduction, which drew a chilling smile to the lips of the activist. Easing his hands up those sides, he raised his hands from the skin that teased him. With great consideration to the action, Stan gently tucked a lock of blond back over one of those pierced ears. A secondary urge to twist the hair was replaced by a stroke of knuckles over the barely plump cheeks of the angel. Tracing his thumb over those lips, Stan smiled down into the sapphire pools of the oceans within Kenny. As he did, the angel kissed his finger lightly.

A brief flicker of blood washed through Stan's mind like an electric splash of ice crashing into his being. The bloodied hands of the Jew stained his memories, crying out in that holy language in that tragic voice. Looking upon Kenny's innocence, Stan felt his mouth opening to express the horror he had witnessed on the steps of the Broflovski house. Before he said a word, however, he stopped himself with a freezing motion within. He chewed on his lower lip, desperately trying not to bring the subject to light with Kenny. Whereas he knew that if anyone could sort through the mess with calculating indifference, it was Kenny McCormick, he also knew that Kyle would never forgive him. Betrayal was a bitter taste to the activist. He decided against it in the very moment his lover reached up through the spiraling realm of melting and freezing ice. Two hands touched his cheeks without a word spoken, though the gems gazing up at him were livid with emotion and gestures. Startled from his own recollection of red stained memories, Stan cast a confused look down at Kenny.

" Yes?"

" Nothin'," the poor boy said, allowing his hands to fall back to the sheets tangled beneath his body. He continued to stare through Stan with an all knowing gaze as penetrating as a bullet through the chest. Yet, the brunette found himself smiling into the barrel. Gently, he ran his fingertips over those full cheeks splashed with gold.

" I love you," Stan whispered, captured by the simple elegance he saw in that dirty ruffian child. The smile he received in return was breathtaking in all its giggling glory as he felt Kenny move into the gesture.

" I love you too," he answered, his eyes moving behind his messy hair. Stan remained as he was, stroking those cheeks, although he realized he was being watched as much as he was watching. However, as he looked down, he found his mind wandering from the beauty that was before him. Rather, he bit down on his lower lip again, seeing the blood in his mind's eye. Glancing away for a second, he fell into the iced waters of a moonless night. He was lost to those dark currents, then, his head tilted away from the pervert.

A second passed where Stan was devoid of expression. His body shivered in spite of himself as he reeled to the horrifying afternoon he hadn't intended to endure. Just as he was becoming aware that Kenny was eyeing him, he figured out that he had been found out. Hands cut through his frozen stare before they grabbed hold of his waist. In a shocking display of strength, Kenny jerked Stan down on top of him, his arms wrapped about the skinny waist of the brunette. A scream smashed into the air before Stan's cheek was pushed into the slightly curved belly of Kenny. Immediately, the activist struggled against the pressure on his back as his face was buried in the shirt and flesh of his lover's plump waist. Yet, he heard snickering as he was stopped at every turn to escape. He was locked in the embrace as he jerked and twisted. Laughter then broke over his head as Kenny pushed him out of the hug, his hands releasing him from the entrapment. Released into his own, Stan sputtered in the wild freedom, his eyes jumping over the glowing face beneath him. Unsure of how to proceed next, Stan remained in the cage, pressing his face down into the belly. There was confusion in every motion as desperation to be embraced again trickled into his actions. Decidedly not enjoying this wild freedom, Stan fell back into the position his boyfriend had pulled him. Sensing this desire, Kenny wrapped his arms about one of the legs his dirty cheek was pressed into. In this frighteningly entangled position, they remained, a sense of fluid heat warming the cold confusion into gentle acceptance.

Acceptance of what, however, was the question.

" What's on your mind?" Kenny's voice slipped through the air with a light firmness to it. Stan didn't answer right away, as he wasn't sure what to say. There was again hesitation to confess what he had seen. Sighing then, the activist said the only thing which sounded even remotely vague enough to avoid what had actually taken place.

" Nothin',"

" Liar," the poor boy hissed under his breath. The grip on Stan's leg increased in emphasis. Lightly, Stan turned his head into the tantalizing flesh of that little belly. The ice melting into his blood was discomforting, for it threatened his tongue and his words. Nevertheless, he could only sigh and confess to the one part of the equation he felt he owed a true explanation to.

" It's. . . .Kyle," Stan muttered, closing his eyes to the image of the wound he had bandaged. Kenny didn't offer anything in the way of surprise. That in itself wasn't surprising, even if the activist wished it had been.

" What'd he do this time?" there was an interesting lack of concern to the angel's voice that suggested a mute distrust of his own question. The aqua gaze of the brunette opened to that in a slight intrigue. He nuzzled the belly he embraced, glancing down to the legs bound in those snug jeans. A second passed where Stan considered addressing the timbre he heard rather than struggling through a conversation that danced about the self inflicted wound that had slipped fresh blood on the tiles of his bathroom. He didn't.

" Nothin'. . ." the activist lied without emotion. Slowly, he turned his head again into the weight of his lover. He felt fingers easing up his leg as though Kenny where fighting to stop himself from squeezing his hands together. Wetting his lips, Stan offered the only bit of truth he was willing to commit to. Saying even that, however, left him feeling cold and hollow within his very core, " I'm jus' worried about him,"

" That's 'cause Kyle's a psychotic person," Kenny plainly informed him, his cheek moving away from his inner thigh as he said it. A jolt spiked throughout Stan's whole body, striking his blood and sending an outpouring of hellishly bleak waves down to his previously nonchalant soul. Even as he shook his head, the activist knew nothing to say in protest of the heartless assessment. Nevertheless, his words spilled into the air like shards of glass cutting into the skin.

" Yeah. . . I think I should go check on him. . ." he absentmindedly asserted, looking towards the boarded up window that faced the street of suburban hell he had come from. The immense concern brewing under the sheet of ice in his throat seemed to bubble through, for he felt a jerk as those hands gripped his skin tightly and firmly. His aqua stare moved from the window to the way the light folded so gently over those thighs and hips. All he really saw, though, was the blood splattered over the lips gasping for breath. Pain found his heart in a freezing and halting clutch.

" You can't leave. Ya jus' _got _here," the blond protested, his tone shifting into a whine that was never a whine. A heavy sigh slammed into the air as Stan moved from the caged position. Instead, he collapsed to the side, falling down onto the unforgiving mattress. Sapphires watched his every move as he curled his much taller frame about the soft, succulent body of the ruffian. Kenny's arms coiled about his waist, his fingertips pressing into his back. He found comfort in those spiraling blond locks as he pulled that plump creature to him.

" I miss you," Stan breathed out in utter despair. His words choked his very essence as he squeezed his eyes shut to something he couldn't identify. He felt those hands twisting up in his shirt before a cold voice slipped over his flesh, speaking into his chest and into his heart in the same motion.

" How can you miss me? We're still here," Kenny assured him, his grip solid and protective. His words fell into the air in shocking disregard for their meaning or their purpose. The icy resolve not to hear either left Stan in the same position as the angel. The effortless nature of their world seemed to crack just slightly then, as the words were left to their own and they to their own as well. Stan merely closed his eyes to them as he pressed his forehead to those locks.

" I know. It's just. . ." the sentence was left unfinished for Stan didn't wish to mention the situation at hand. He felt the presence within his skull of those emeralds peering through his soul and into his words. There was a lingering dread at the notion of what had taken place, what hadn't been expressed, and who was the likely cause to the blood spill. While he struggled not to say any of the words he felt burning into his throat, Kenny's arms wrapped tighter about him. He was drawn close as he shook his head slowly, " I. . .I don't know,"

" I know,"

The assurance of the angel fell on deaf ears as the other bit his lower lip to the fiery hell he had been immersed in without his consent since he had met the redheaded demon eleven years ago. As far as Stan was concerned, no one outside of him could ever truly know the torment of befriending the green eyed monster that was Kyle Broflovski.

If only Stan knew how wrong he was.

The door was painted white, but it was wooden, like all the others in the little mountain town. Like all of them, in the middle of the summer pleasure, it was unlocked. Kyle pressed his palm to the warm wood and shoved it open without consideration for it. It swung open with a soft creak from neglect, but failed to slam into the wall behind it. The foyer was devoid of life, with all the lights turned down and all the rooms empty. The van was missing from the drive way. Not a sound echoed in the dark quiet of the living room with its little couch and its little end tables with little lamps on them. A small meow darted through the air as he shut the door behind him, easing it closed by leaning his weight into the scorching wood.

Wetting his lips, Kyle looked to the side as his hardened emeralds took in the wood work of the Cartmans' living room. Slowly, though, he slipped away and headed through the still air enveloping the two story home stuck in the middle of a nonchalant block. His boots made soft thuds on the carpet stained from years of wear and tear of a single mother and a single hellion. His fingers, bloody and bound, ran along the dented walls as he found his way to the stairs. Cracks shot up and down the aged, twisting things from an ancient past lost in the heat of the Jew's mindset. Breathing in the sugary smell of the pathway to hell, he crept up to the second floor one stair at a time.

Moving swiftly, though cautiously, he made his way to the second floor. There, the hallway ripped to the side in either direction. He ignored the right as he turned in favor of the left. Three doors pierced through the shadowed walls framing the narrow walkway into the inner realm of the deranged. One to nothing important, one to the remarkably forbidden, and one to the torture chamber beckoning the Jew forward. Dragging his fingers along the wall, he stepped over to the door with the swastika cut deep into the dark, twisted wood. He traced the outline of the symbol of his oppression, leaving a faint trail of blood from his injured hand, as he lightly rubbed the hollow of his throat. The golden chain of his religious icon was ice against his burning flesh. He rubbed a thumb over the Star of David which had guarded the lives of many Jews within his bloodline since the days of Hitler. Drawing upon that strength, he creaked open the door and held it open only a fraction of an inch. Into hell, Kyle did peer, his eyes looking only briefly at the black and red world he had seen far too many times for comfort.

The room was a notoriously infamous place within the likes of the Jew's world. The walls were the shade of freshly drawn blood, while all the decorations were the color of death. Darkness resigned heavily in every sharp jerking corner, washing over the wooden floor from the bookcase bearing numerous thick, leather bound books. The titles were gold wrought in German and Italian, spiraling over the dark spines like spider webs snaring the eye. The shadows over these perverse books of the medieval tortures and the reign of monsters fell on the littered jewels of clothing accessories and metal weapons. An array of bloodied knives were half hidden beneath a scattering of leather boots and mesh gloves. The mess was coupled with the neat alignment of clothes hanging in the open closet. The black painted chest within the closet, however, cut through the various colors of the untold bout of fashionable items hanging there. A padlock bore a striking resemblance to the one lost within the Jew's memories as he looked upon the tightly locked case of unknown contents. The thin line of red running down to the floor, though, bore great witness to what had occupied it at one time or another.

Still, for all the design and all the darkness, Kyle found his eyes drawn to the queen sized bed on the opposing side of the room from that closet and those books. Blood red sheets were tossed half on it, with the other half laying over the floor. The end tables were hidden underneath stacks of thin comics, thick books in the foreign tongues of the others, and the plastic cases of modern music. A clock was glowing blue beneath a slightly askew hat bearing the swastika symbol on a bubblegum pink pin. Another hat was resting on one of the points to a plain headboard. The wooden headboard was dented slightly and littered with various burn marks much like the ends of cigarettes. Pillows of varying sizes and shades of red were pushed against this board, as the owner of them was leaning against them, his shockingly honey eyes poised on his black cell phone. His fingers clicked on the keyboard to the tiny thing, obviously sending some devious message to someone much like the innocent that was Butters.

Eric never saw Kyle watching him with those hollow eyes of emerald.

The clicking of the phone echoed in the quiet of the house as Kyle looked through that tiny crack and into that ominous bedroom. The Nazi sent and received several different messages as he was observed. In between them, he flipped through a book with various images of headless souls being dragged to and from the guillotine. The bloodied images were striking in a haunting way as the Jew slowly lowered his fiery gaze away from the empty face of the brunette. His stare found the rolling arch of that creature's waistline. For a second, Kyle looked on at the vast amount of weight Eric had gained in the years since they had last spoken of that day. A smile eased its way over his face as he noted the way his Nazi appeared in that oblivious moment when the Jew held all of the power. Easing his bloodied fingers up the wood, Kyle slipped away from the bedroom that lingered in the depths of his memories. A grin remained poised sickeningly on his lips as he made his way from the upstairs to the living room. Never once did he consider what he had done. He merely relished in the result as he opened the front door and slammed it shut behind him with a crashing, colliding sound that pierced through the last rays of the day.

The heated pleasure, however, was torn from him as he heard that voice calling out for Kenny McCormick in shocked confusion.

Blinding horror stopped Kyle in his steps as his heart were gripped by the overwhelming implications of that shout. His body jerked away, jerked towards the leering house of the monster that plagued him. The drowning of the still waters smashed into him as he saw the black curtains shift. He saw the eyes of death looking down upon him in a honey stare that raped him of every possible shred of passion. His body shivered in the freezing air surrounding him as he frighteningly looked up at Eric. In the moment that their eyes met, he entertained the sickening thought that perhaps, just perhaps, they hadn't been separated.

That perhaps, just perhaps, Eric had been expecting Kenny.

The ringing of Kyle's cell phone shattered the moment. The Jew continued to stare at the window before he slowly turned from it. He pulled out his phone, recognizing the ring as the Raging Pussy song he had designated to his best friend. He flipped it open, beginning to head back down the street towards the Marsh place he had abandoned.

" Stan?" he asked without any need to clarify. He heard a soft sigh of relief running down his freezing flesh like a breath of fresh air. Kyle reveled in it, falling into it's familiarity with earnest.

" Where the hell are you?" the activist demanded in what could have passed for a truly frustrated tone. The redhead found he wasn't adverse to that measure of agitation as he stepped through the freezing underbelly of unreal fears. Instead, he allowed himself to feel the crawling heat of his blood inside. For all the heat, however, his voice literally tasted empty as he rubbed one hand over his neck in a flicker of uncertainty to the words within.

" I went for a walk. . . to clear my head," Kyle informed the other. Although the answer wasn't at all true, he felt embers in his assertion that it was. Kyle himself was surprised by the lie. Nevertheless, he spoke it as he drifted over the cracked and bent sidewalk stretching the entire block of mirroring houses. He saw lights turning on in some windows while they flashed out in others. Of all the houses he pasted between the porch of the Marshes and the porch of the Cartmans, he never once looked to the darkened windows of his own.

" Oh. . .I was worried about you," Stan told him in a voice that seemed unconvinced with the answer presented as fact. Kyle shook his head to no one, gripping his waist as he felt a rush of fire licking along the base of his skull. Assurance cut through his curt voice, but the comfort of the words was so hollow, they fell like knives through the darkening air.

" I'm fine,"

" I wanna see you," the activist flatly expressed in the devoid timbre so common within his voice. Something about the way he said it, however, made Kyle look up. The sunset before his eyes was wrought of deep purples and heavy blues as the sun sank behind the curtain of buildings. In the lingering distance, there was the McCormick place, which the Jew avoided looking at by turning his gaze to his boots as they walked.

" Your place, not mine," the Jew spat out, turning his head as he walked past the house he hatefully referred to as his home. He vaguely heard an agreement before the phone line went dead.

Slowly, Kyle shut his phone as he heard the cutting sound of glass creaking up and wood groaning. Behind him, footsteps darted from the blackened Broflovski home to the asphalt of the street. Tiny thumps echoed in the frozen hell as Kyle gripped his cell phone in an inferno that welded up inside him. Those thumps ran from the street, from the suburban outstretch of anonymity, into the bleak horizon of the darkened city just over the shoulder of the Jew. Gritting his teeth, Kyle swallowed the cry on his tongue. Rather, he bolted forth, into the moonless waters of the still lit world. His feet took him through the trickling remnants of daylight to the footsteps of the Marsh house.

Kyle saw that the light was on in the window he knew to be Stan's. Without knocking, he entered the house and began to head up to said room. In the near distance, the lyrics of Paralyzer slipped through the warm air of growing summer. Leaving the music behind him, the redhead scaled the stairs to the second floor and walked over to the desired room. Inside he swept, kicking the thin wooden thing shut behind him. He made his way over to the bed, where he promptly sat down beside the activist. Stan sat there, his legs pulled up, without expression to his blank face. As soon as Kyle was seated, though, the emptiness was replaced by what could have easily of passed for empathy.

" How you doin'?" Stan casually presented the serious question resigning in both of their minds. Kyle looked up, into the piercing stare of aqua. The fires poured into his blood with a touch of frozen fear. Despite not knowing where the emotions originated, he breathed them in and he turned his head to the side. The red of his hair fell into his emerald gaze as he quickly derailed this attempt to peer into the inferno of a core within his burning soul.

" I woke up and you weren't here," the Jew idly whispered without any idle notion to his empty voice. He never mentioned his own unsaid request to the activist as he peered through the tangles to the face that watched over him. His head tilted again as he gripped the sheets, " Where'd you go?"

" I thought you'd. . .wanna be alone," was the carefully worded response given to the question left unanswered. The brunette eyed Kyle without any recognizable emotion to his hardened face. Kyle moved away for a second before he drew closer, running his fingers smoothly along the blue sheets below. When he spoke, he looked towards the opposing wall instead of meeting the heavy gaze assessing him.

" Did I ask to be?"

There was no answer to give but the honestly cold one.

" No,"

The gemstones of their freezing and burning realms met as the word cascaded into the tense air gathered in the bedroom. The Jew said nothing as he wet his lips and removed his gaze to the stitching of the ocean hued sheets. Never once did Stan turn his eyes away. He took in every chilling detail of that shockingly hollow face with cold indifference. Then Kyle looked back towards him. The smile which crossed his face was cleverly disguised in the veil of gratitude. Still, the smile melted through the tension so that Stan felt his body ignoring the pull of the dark waters pooling up inside his icy center.

" Thanks for leaving," the redhead utterly softly, reaching his hand forward to press his fingers into the ankle of the activist. Stan nodded slightly as he felt the sudden heat jolt into his flesh and enter his blood with a feeling similar to an electric shock.

" Sure," he muttered, moving his feet as he shifted his position so he was laying out on his sheets. Kyle didn't adjust his position, although he did lower his eyes to observe as the activist did. Moving his feet yet again, Stan nudged the Jew with one, pushing them into the plump thigh of his fattened friend. Kyle idly ran his fingers over the black sock, tugging it off. Stan didn't stop him as he swallowed his fear at admitting where it was he had been, knowing the fear to be misplaced in the moment, " I went to see Kenny,"

" I'm surprised you're not still there," Kyle admitted as he began to play with Stan's toes. A rush of water consumed the fear, whiting it out in a blinding explosion of resentment. The snarl filled his every word as he gripped his hands in a vain attempt to hide the contempt.

" Carol kicked me out," he growled, his aqua stare quickly changing into a darkened glare poised on the wall facing towards the west. Stan knew that beyond that wall there was the McCormick place where he had been intent on spending the evening until he was summoned by the well meaning Kyle. Yet, it had not been so. Nothing he did could control the ice from striking his words and thus, striking the air. His companion, of course, was unmoved.

" Again?" the redhead probed, his fingers smoothing over the sole of Stan's foot in a similar fashion to a massage. A shiver slipped up the spine of the brunette at the gentle pressure drawing out his stress. Into this he melted, slumping down into the embrace of his plush, tired mattress.

" Yeah," Stan groaned, rubbing his forehead absentmindedly. Kyle switched his position at last, moving so he was seated further into the world of blue. He rested his friend's heel on his knee so he could press his thumbs into the aching muscle there, " I don't think she likes me,"

" Well, you are fuckin' her youngest boy," the Jew curtly teased, his mouth moving into a casual, off collar smile. There was an underlying fire to that smile, but it was easily ignored, for there was no bait to this imploring nature. Stan thus only shrugged lightly as he wiggled his toes in the grasp of the other. Kyle grinned playfully, squeezing the things.

Jumping for the ante, Stan asked the question lingering unspoken in their seemingly relaxed world.

" Where'd you go?" he gently implored, his eyes looking towards those emeralds for the confirmation he wasn't expecting in verbal terms. Kyle looked up with a certain hue of venomous disgust quickly replaced by defiant apathy. The Jew idly shrugged as he flexed his fingers. The stress to his words was answer enough, although Stan was disheartened not to hear the actual location.

" No where important," Kyle assured him with all the lying pressure of a soul on fire and desiring nothing better than a good argument. The activist sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Still, he didn't fight to gather the answer. He already knew it, anyways, so there was no need to hear it. He knew, eventually, something would ignite those flames and he would be subject to the screaming that would tell all he ever wanted to know about just where it was the Jew disappeared to when he went 'no where important'.

" Yeah, okay," he mumbled dejectedly, glancing away. The pressure on his foot flared momentarily before lowering back to a comforting level. The conversation was left to the words unspoken as another seduction of language found its way tracing through Stan's blood. A rush of electricity found the waters and he was jolted by a flash through his mind of two sapphires and a length of white flesh. Swallowing hard, this impressively sinful image flushed his skin in a tingling tinge that crossed his face. Kyle's attention was immediately drawn to cheeks that blushed red as Stan attempted to suggest what was teasing his memories so playfully, " So. . ."

The words caught in Stan's throat as he returned his gaze to the Jew. Kyle stared at him in what could have been shock, although it was difficult to tell. Shivering to the images melding into physical lingerings, the activist bit his lower lip slightly. There was a desire to keep the succulent feeling of the angel's lush body a secret. Perhaps if he did, the deeply seductive nature of the curves would remain a tantalizing treat. However, the need to verbalize his building excitement could not withhold the words. Struggling still, he attempted again to say what he wanted to as he felt heat pouring into his cheeks.

" Ken's. . ." Stan faltered on the words. In desperation, he gestured to the plump waistline of the redhead staring so intently at him. For a minute moment, the gaze was empty before Kyle slowly drew back as if in recoil. There was nothing outside of amazement to those widened emeralds, though. Letting his hand drop to his lap, Stan quivered as a small smile flashed briefly over his lips, " Yeah,"

" I _told _you eating KFC morning, noon, and night wasn't good for you," Kyle sneered with that customarily vicious, biting smile of his. The smile was coupled with an almost mocking pat to the leg that truly expressed the Jew's haughty, although usually good natured, personality, " I hope you didn't tell him he was getting fat,"

" I didn't. You're the only one I'd tell," the activist replied with similar bite to his own tone. Kyle answered him with a falsely sweet smile and an equally fake laugh. Regardless of the mockery, Stan found himself swimming in a lost, mindless heat as the dancing images of that gorgeous, little blond twirled about his mind. He felt the way his hands had molded over those plumped hips and he could not help the fiery red which rushed to his cheeks.

" I can't believe you're blushing," Kyle muttered with an intrigued tone. Stan gave him the beginnings of a venomous glare, although the furious chill of the memories of Kenny prevented him from fully doing so.

" I'm not,"

" And my hair's not red," he teased, pointing towards his gloriously ruby locks. The brunette turned his eyes away as he felt an unprecedented rush of embarrassment overtake his usually empty core. He jerked his fingers through his hair several times in a vain attempt to rid himself of this frustratingly powerful emotion that left him so vulnerable. Unable to do so, he felt annoyance trickling to the surface while he tried yet again to express himself to those prying eyes.

" It's. . . .well. . ." his voice struggled to get out of his closed off throat so not used to emotional expressions such as this. Just as he was starting to flounder, however, Kyle pointed at him with an all knowing manner.

" You _like _it, don't you?" the Jew asked in a breathy voice as Stan watched the pleasure of discovery stretch those fires to those emeralds. The activist didn't say anything, for the words were gripped by the hands of frozen disposition nearly lost within the turbulent waters. All he could do was slowly, unsurely, nod his head once, twice, three times. Yet, as he did, he found himself unable to meet that stare. Thus, he tore his eyes to the blue walls covered in posters as he felt Kyle drawing closer, gripping harder, " You _like it. _That is so. . . _grade _school. Could you _please _stop having a crush on your boyfriend?"

" I can't help it," he weakly protested, scrunching up his nose. There was a roll of green that dismissed the answer while Stan allowed himself the guilty pleasure of smiling softly, " I think it's cute,"

" At least he's not skin and bones anymore," Kyle said, ignoring the presence of such an honest admittance. For that, Stan was unsurprisingly grateful. Still, he covered his face for a second in an effort to push back the blush. He was unsuccessful once more.

" Yeah. . . He's not," he idly said as the smile slowly disappeared to return his face to the masque of indifference. Kyle arched an eyebrow as he rubbed his thumbs over the foot he still held, for whatever absentminded reason he had.

" How much, do you think?" he questioned with more interest than he probably should of held. Stan found his eyes sharpening only slightly to the question, although not even he was sure as to why. Nevertheless, when he answered, there was an underlying bite to the wholly teasing statement.

" No more than you," the activist sneered with noted ice. The ice was met with fire, even if he hadn't meant to draw up the retaliation. He saw a flare of fire within those eyes as Kyle gritted his teeth and gripped his foot with anger.

" We're not talking about me, Stanley," the Jew spat out, making a quick, snap of a cutting motion with one hand. The gesture was dripping with pent up fury that actually licked over the air. Without taking much notice to it, Stan shrugged in an expectant manner of disarming. Despite the unintentional venom, the activist wasn't at all surprised with the direction of warning. He had known Kyle long enough to know what he would and what he wouldn't discuss in open conversation. Refusing to answer the bait, however, left Kyle falling back to his previously curious nature, " How does he feel about it?"

" About _what? _You?" Stan asked, jabbing a finger at the slight curves at the hemline of Kyle's jeans. He was given a frustrated look as he smiled in a mildly pleased manner, " He doesn't know about you,"

" Not about _me. _I know he doesn't know about me," Kyle sneered back, his voice swirling with a mixture of spite and fresh fire. The texture wasn't enjoyable, but it wasn't something new. Stan allowed him the moment of cold hatred before he saw the way the Jew physically withdrew his obviously misplaced rage. He wet his lips and turned his head slightly; the signs even he recognized he was out of line with his bite, " I meant about him,"

" Oh. I have no idea," the brunette plainly answered with an nonchalant shrug. There was a second where Kyle looked like he didn't believe him. Then those eyes narrowed in utter disbelief, though this was directed at Stan as a whole rather than the answer.

" You didn't ask?"

" Why would I?" Stan asked in return, folding his arms behind his head. Kyle made a face that was devoid of emotion, followed closely by another roll of the eyes and a sigh that was wicked in its intent. The activist felt the ice shooting up to form a barricade to whatever the embers had to offer in the way of counter attack. Yet, he didn't receive any of the fury. Instead, he was treated to the other unpleasant side of the Jew.

" Well, don't you think you should have?" Kyle chided, his tone dropping perilously close to patronizing in only a moment. The way his timbre shifted from the burning fire to the scorching scolding was impressive. Still, it was an unwelcome impressive, for Stan felt a jolt of annoyance follow it. The Jew, of course, scolded him further with a sickening grin of being lost to his own devices of trying to pierce the flesh and get under the skin, " I mean, Kenny's always been . . .so. . petite. This might _really _bother him,"

" Are you speaking from experience?" Stan jeered with a similar grin in place. The words were strikingly close to a true insult, so much so that Kyle was prompted into the churning flames within. The scolding vanished before it got going as the Jew gritted his teeth in agonizing rage.

" I _mean-t _Kenny is especially sensitive. He might be upset if he notices he's getting fat," he snapped, jerked back as if being so close to Stan was no longer comfortable for him. The lingering sense of scathing heat, though, drew from the mouth of the activist another poised remark fashioned like a needle. He quickly disarmed that biting demon with it.

" Yeah. . . He's a lot like you,"

" You're asking for it, you know," Kyle snarled in vicious spitfire as he gripped hold of that foot with furious pressure. Stan cringed in the pain, although his face held defiant apathy towards the return of the fanged fire. To further express his victory, he wiggled his toes in resistance and cast a reposed look down the bed to where he was met with an emerald enraged gaze.

" Yeah, whatever. Okay," he muttered innocently while the grip pushed the envelope of true pain. Feeling a thrust of sheer agony tear into his leg, Stan held up his hands in surrender, " Ow. Stop,"

" Stop bringing up my weight," Kyle commanded of him, baring his teeth in a shivering reveal of that monstrous inferno within. Stan watched him struggle not to lash out as he felt the moonless waters of darkness reaching up to slip into his veins with a cold sensation of violation. When he spoke, he turned his aquamarine eyes into the depths of those burning stones without fear of the obvious danger.

" I could bring up today,"

The words struck the air in heavy, penetrating silence. There was shock in Kyle's face as he recoiled almost entirely from the activist. His shoulders tensed as he covered his injured hand with the other in a protective fashion. Yet, the ice that spilled into the air was all damning and all commanding. The fire was washed away to be replaced with a deathly empty face wrought with a haunting sense of displacement. The Jew looked first to the side, then to the bed sheets twisted below. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut as he quivered and gripped the necklace he wore everyday, hidden from sight beneath his shirt. Stan swallowed a hollow dread as the golden Star was revealed in that halting moment of sheer weakness, of sheer agony. For a moment, he wished to withdraw the words, but he couldn't. Rather, he laid there, watching the break of the crack as the fire flickered out and his best friend crumpled beneath the only words he found in the freezing damnation that befell the room.

" Today was an accident," Kyle whispered to no one besides himself. As his eyes opened, they did not see. They stared into the void of the abyss surrounding their lost souls. Emotion never filtered through the only answer ever offered in regards to that bloody afternoon. There was a sense of finality to them, but Stan felt the words leaving his lips even as he knew he shouldn't press further into this wound.

" Are you sure?" he tried to sound strong, as if he wasn't at all deterred by the emptiness he wasn't used to seeing in the Jew. He faltered in his strength, however, as those slender fingers smoothed along the lines of that religious icon. A sense of solitude resigned in the only word spoken in that chasm of a moment.

" No,"

" Should I ask?" Stan posed the question as he knew what the answer was going to be. There was a small clink as the Star disappeared behind the deeply green shirt stained with blood. Once removed from sight, the air ceased to be so heavily pressed upon their backs. Life returned to Kyle's eyes as he turned them up to the activist through twisted locks of red.

" You won't get an answer," he calmly informed him as the misery lifted from his fair face. The brunette solemnly nodded, wishing he could look elsewhere. He didn't, of course, as he needed to see the return of the fire to be sure it was safe to proceed anywhere within the threat of breaking that mind any further than it already was.

" I didn't think so,"

" Are you going to tell Kenny?" Kyle abruptly asked, moving back towards Stan with fluid motions melting with embers. His touch was burning hot as he returned to massaging the foot of his best friend. The sudden shift was shocking, even if the activist was unfortunately immune to it. Exhaling a cold breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, Stan slumped back against the pillows in a mild relief to have left that devoid realm of agony behind.

" That's he's getting fat?" Stan repeated, just to be sure of where this conversation was heading. He saw a comforting roll of eyes that dismissed his question as utterly unnecessary; which it was.

" Yeah,"

" No,"

" Are you going to mention it at all?" the redhead demanded as he tilted his head to the side in what could be called honest interest. The spite in the words, however, painted a much different picture.

" Why would I?" the activist shortly implored, crossing his arms over his chest with disregard to whatever colorful side he brought to life by doing so. Kyle gave him a halting stare. There was a moment when Stan wanted to wave at him, just to see how far he could push him. Settling for something less likely to end with his foot being forcibly amputated, he wiggled his toes.

" Because if he notices it on his own, he's probably gonna be really fat. And then he'll be really upset," the Jew heatedly explained, gripping the wiggling toes as though they offended him. Stan felt a jolt of unknown emotions overtake his ability to speak, although he wasn't sure as to why. A light flush washed over his cheeks before Kyle idly sighed and shrugged, " He doesn't notice these things,"

A nod was given on the side of the brunette. As much as he would of liked to, he couldn't say Kyle wasn't telling the truth. If he knew one thing about the poor boy, and he had to say he knew more than he was admitting to, Kenny wasn't the most observant child. His preoccupation with the perverse prevented him from being so. As years had passed before the McCormick had become aware that he was, in fact, a feminine looking male, Stan had to admit Kyle was probably right. When it came to himself, the blond was almost entirely devoid of emotion. He had never mentioned his own thoughts concerning his own appearance for nine of the eleven years of their friendship. The day he had finally stated something, it had been under tremendous pressure from the Nazi. Even then, though, Kenny had reserved the sentiment to a simple 'I think I'm a pretty boy' when Cartman had twisted his arm, so to speak, into admitting how he felt about his golden locks, fair face, and luscious body. Of course, Kenny had made numerous jokes at his own expense and the like. However, that one utterance had been the only serious statement he had ever made in eleven years about his appearance. When asked why he'd never mentioned it, Kenny had even shrugged and said he just hadn't noticed.

Unfortunately, that lack of interest in his own appearance made Stan sigh in a defeated manner. Kyle was, as usual, correct in his assumption. Sinking down a bit further into the sheets, the activist had no choice but to consent to the facts. If no one else mentioned the plumpness, Kenny probably wouldn't notice until he really had gained more weight. As the blond had a tendency to overreact when he did get emotional, he knew the Jew was right to say if he didn't notice now, he would be viciously upset when he finally did. As he fell into accepting this, Kyle rubbed his thumbs into the sole of his foot.

Stan found only one word to express his feelings towards this acceptance.

" Dammit,"

" Why don't you just give him a call and ask if he's even noticed?" the other suggested, sensing the amount of frustration that one word held. Stan sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

" Okay. . ." he moaned out, pulling out his phone from his pocket. As he flipped it open, Kyle wagged a finger in his face with a certain air of haughty indifference that was customary of that redhead. When he spoke, his words were so close to stern that the activist wanted to kick him in the leg to return him to the playful friend he had come to love.

" Just be nice about it. No one likes being told they're fat,"

The only look Stan could give was one of utter exasperation. He almost said something about the sheer audacity of Kyle Broflovski, of all people, stating such a thing. Rather than tread into that unknown territory, the activist looked away as he punched in the phone number he knew better than his own. The disbelief he held for that apathetic expression didn't subside until he heard the first ringing. Then, slowly, it faded into the background as he felt the smallest of smiles beginning to form on his flushed face. As he heard that slang, Southern voice, a pleasing, freezing sensation overwhelmed his senses.

" Hey, Baby,"

" Hey, Ken," he cooed out, a widely happy smile overtaking his empty expression. The thrill of speaking to this angel made him shiver with delight as he felt a jolt of electricity cut into his flesh. Two wide and seemingly caught off guard emeralds stared at him as he gripped his free hand.

" What chu want?" the blond asked without any bite to the normally spiteful question. Stan could taste the smile in the words even as he floundered in actually admitting to what it was he was calling to talk about. He stuttered on the question as he frantically searched his mind for a way to ask. He found nothing within as he desperately tried to find anything to assist him.

" Uh. . ." he weakly began, turning his panicked stare to the only other person in the room. He motioned for Kyle to help him in any way, his motions jerky and disconnected.

" Just ask him," the Jew whispered sharply, making a motion of his own for the activist to say something. Whereas the suggestion was nothing helpful, the heat of the words prompted Stan to speak. As he did, he felt himself slowly shaking in what most would of taken for fear. That wasn't it, of course. He wasn't sure what it was, but he felt a burning cold within as he tried his best to bring this sensitive topic to light.

" Uh. . .Hey, baby. . . have you. . .uh. . .noticed any. . .changes?" Stan stumbled to say, unable to actually say the words he needed to. He received a dark glare from Kyle, which he completely ignored. In his ear, he heard a bit of a laugh that rolled over his flesh like silk.

" Yeah, the weather's changin'. Gettin' hot as hell out there," Kenny said with a tremendous disregard to the nervousness that spilled from the activist's mouth. Stan felt his body descending quickly into furious panic as he heard his boyfriend spitting out his hatred for the one free season they had from the mountain snowfall of the year, " Fuckin' pisses me off. That's fer fuckin' sure,"

Stan shot Kyle a pleading, pressing look of desperation.

" Ask him if he's gained weight," the redhead snarled in a low voice. He furthered his point with a cutting motion to proceed. There was obvious annoyance and agitation to those motions that suggested that if Stan couldn't force himself to do it, Kyle most certainly could. Swallowing his nerves for fear of however the Jew might ask, the activist forced himself to direct the conversation as best he could.

" Uh. . . I meant with you," he mumbled, twisting his fingers up in his shirt. Kyle watched him for the answer he couldn't hear as Stan listened to a moment of confused silence on the line. Then, as he expected, he heard the one utterance to vocalize the feeling coming across.

" Huh?"

" Y'know. . . you. . .your. . . weight," Stan finally convinced himself to say. As soon as he did, he felt his throat close in as ice sealed it shut to anything else he might be forced into expressing. A cold chill washed through his blood in steady streams as he swallowed dryly and listened to another brief silence. Then, he heard what could have been a laugh, but was far too distant to be able to truly tell.

" You mean the fact that I'm gettin' fat?"

There was such emptiness to those words that Stan felt his body jolt in both shock and bewilderment. Yet, there was no telling what emotion presided over that surprising statement. Nevertheless, Stan felt himself looking at the phone before he pushed it back to his ear to listen in to the nothingness waiting on the McCormick's side of the universe.

" Huh? Yeah, that. You know about that?" Stan asked even when he probably shouldn't. In front of him, he saw Kyle fall over onto the bed in disbelief and grinning, unspoken, laughter. Giving him a blank look, Stan harassed the Jew with his foot for the sake of doing it. In his ear, he heard a snarky laugh that was followed by an equally nasty question.

" How the fuck _wouldn't _I know 'bout that?" Kenny sneered with a bit of humor to his seductive voice. Stan answered with a shrug that couldn't be seen, then with a smile that meant nothing to anyone but him. He idly traced his fingers along his sheets as he gave the ceiling a cast away glance.

" I dunno. Ask Kyle,"

" Don't bring me into this!" the Jew shouted, smacking at his leg a couple of times. He ignored the slaps, for they weren't hard enough to mean anything. Instead, he just gave him the bird as he shifted his position slightly. He held the phone from his mouth as he addressed the redhead before pushing it back as he heard that spiraling voice beckoning him.

" Shut up,"

" Dude, it's my body, my temple. I know everything about it," the angel informed him, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Stan blinked as he heard this, although he didn't question it. Rather, he lightly smiled as he heard a snicker and felt the hands of that laughter running over his shoulders, " I gained a couple pounds. No big deal,"

" Cool," the activist simply stated, grinning to no one. He had a moment to entertain the possibility that his boyfriend could feel the smile before he was plunged into the depths of dark waters by a wholly frozen voice.

" Does it bother you?"

Never before had Stan heard such a voice. There was a crawling timbre of hell within the words that spoke of ill intentions. The overwhelming sense of emptiness to the voice itself, though, was the most horrifying sound. Nothing was in that voice, as if the speaker felt nothing, not even the coldest, hardest, most depraved emotions. The voice belonged to a monster, but he heard it spoken in the clear accent of his lovely angel. The shocking combination of the two made his blood turn to ice as it ceased to flow in his veins.

" What?"

" Does it bother you?" Kenny repeated in a much lighter tone, dripping with calm concern towards the answer. The way his timbre smoothed through the air was intoxicating enough to erase the fear of that previous question. Rather, Stan felt a rush of burning desire to express his pent up emotions at the serious implication to disliking the change in his lover's body type.

" Hell no!" he exclaimed beyond his will. Almost immediately thereafter, he felt a rush of blush overcome his pale cheeks. He even covered his mouth to prevent any more emotional outbursts to escape. Horror descended upon him again, only this was a much warmer horror, for it was at the tremendous emotion he had just expressed. Whereas Kyle eyed him suspiciously, Kenny didn't even seem to have heard.

" Then why are you askin'?" he implored, sounding interested without being invested in the emotion. The underlying pressure to the question, however, seemed to indicate a contradiction of opinion. Still, Stan was caught up in his own revel and horror to answer anything but truthfully.

" Huh? Oh. . . Kyle told me to," he responded with a light shrug. He saw the Jew give him a nasty look, which he answered by harassing the redhead with both his feet. He was given another smack that he ignored as he turned his attention back to the phone and the waiting pause, " Make sure you were okay with it,"

" Tell Kyle I'm not the one he needs to be worryin' 'bout,"

Kenny's threatening words struck the air with a stillness that pierced into Stan's soul. Before another word from either could be said, however, there came a shrill scream from the McCormick's side. A loud clanging thud rang out as banging smacked into the activist's ear. He was about to ask when he heard her screaming, crying, out in a slurred voice torn from the wenches beneath in the sulfur pits.

" KIN-NY! GET _OUT HERE! _" Carol bellowed, the banging growing harder and louder in the momentary silence of a harsh breath inhaled. Stan felt ice freeze himself as he gripped his phone tightly. Carol's scream echoed on, the same words repeated over, over, over again, in increasingly hysterical manners. The clanging overtook the banging as her voice peaked at a decibel where the words were indistinguishable from one another.

" KENNY, YOU GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!"

The command of Stuart McCormick's voice was unmistakable as it collided with the shrill cries of his wife.

" Fuck. . . ." Kenny hissed under his breath as Stan felt himself sitting up. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he almost asked what was going on. A shattering of glass and a child's cry pierced his words. Darkness grabbed hold of his words like the hands reaching desperately through the waters of his memories. Something prevented him from begging to come to that place. He felt the words leaving his mouth as he shivered under the pressure of the hands of fate.

" I'll let you go," Stan whispered in a voice that was hardly his own. The ice of his words felt heavy on his tongue as he slowly drew his arms about him. On the other side of the glass, he heard footsteps moving across creaking, groaning wood.

" Yeah, okay. Bye,"

" I love you," he whispered to the haunted voice he heard in his ear. When Kenny answered, he heard Carol's scream overriding every other sound in the whole of the universe like the cry of the damned.

" Yeah,"

Kenny's voice cut off as the line went dead like a clatter of stone into the pool of lightless seas. Swallowed up in the darkness, he was gone before Stan ever realized the conversation was over and he was sitting upright in utter horror. The emptiness of his mind barely recognized itself as the sound of the detached voice faded from his memory. Shutting the phone, the activist felt the connection snap in half, severing and leaving him to the pull of his own world. Slowly, he tossed the phone onto the end table as he turned to see Kyle watching him through the mess of red that cascaded down his shoulders. Seeing him there, Stan went back to harassing him with his foot until the Jew grabbed his leg and dragged him away from the phone that never rang.

The darkness of the burning summer night pressed upon the window of the activist's bedroom as Kyle and Stan tumbled and rolled on the mattress in a play wrestling match. Their yelps echoed into the bleak skyline as the minutes dripped into time well spent. As the minutes pulled into an hour gone, however, the match faded like the sun. In place of it, the two laid on the bed with red backed cards fished out from the end table. As they usually did when the video games were played out and the conversation waning, they drew out cards and played the game they had been taught eleven years ago by one honey eyed demon. The cards were held in hands as Stan picked up a card at the words 'Go Fish'.

" God, I hate this game," the activist groaned, folding one arm underneath his head for better support than his deflated pillow could offer. Kyle sighed softly as he shuffled his cards absentmindedly.

" It's completely pointless," he agreed in a voice that was on the edge of sounding fed up with it. Stan nodded tiredly as a the cards of the Jew were motioned in his general direction, " Go Fish,"

" Fish what? It's your turn,"

" Oh. I forfeit,"

" You can't forfeit Go Fish. That's not how it works," Stan reminded him as he looked over his cards for the sake of doing so. He saw his friend cast him a forlorn glare that was more or less meaningless. He answered it with a playful grin and shrug of one shoulder.

" Fine. I. . . .dammit this game sucks," the redhead sneered, gritting his teeth as he tapped his fingers on the cards held tightly in his hand. The other patiently waited, his eyes following the lines of the light as it melded over the curves of his friend's plumped waistline. He heard a sigh, however, and he returned to looking at those emeralds, " Got any threes?"

" Wait. I just picked up a card. It was my turn," he answered the question, turning his eyes to the card he had just placed in the deck; the Ace of hearts. He was shot a venomous look that slipped over his flesh with considerable heat.

" Fine, then _go,_"

" Got any threes?" he causally asked with a remarkably controlled grin. Kyle threw the card at him with a swear in Hebrew uttered to express his anger at such a trick. The activist merely chuckled, tugging the set from his deck and placing them neatly on his stacks of won cards. Beside him, Kyle rolled onto his back, looking passionately up at the ceiling as if he could see something in the plaster that was much more surreal than anything Stan had ever seen.

" I know how much Cartman weighs,"

The words were so empty that Stan lowered his eyes in respect to what was left unsaid.

" Yeah?" he muttered as he adjusted his little pile of cards to perfect. The Jew was silent although the heat that licked over his blanched knuckles was enough to admit his mental persuasion. The distance in those emeralds made the activist look up, arching an eyebrow. Kyle merely drummed his cards on his slightly fat belly, continuing to stare into the abyss, " How much?"

" It's tragic really," Kyle whispered, his eyes closing slowly as though what he saw wasn't what he wanted to. Stan tilted his head to the side, folding his cards upon the sheets that suddenly didn't seem soft or comforting. A lingering sense of dread made the brunette ask for clarification despite the fact that he knew what was said wasn't an answer to his own question.

" What? That's he's fat?"

" No. . . .That we're just sitting here. Playing Go Fish," the Jew stated, turning his head as his eyes slowly opened to reveal their stunning color. He peered at Stan through those locks as if he was lost to himself. Slowly, however, he smiled a half smile that was more somber than playful, " Like we're eight again,"

" That's funny. I remember eight being much more interesting," Stan lightly said, returning to his cards. The words he wanted to say never pierced his tongue, for he removed himself from the heavy gaze resting on his shoulders. He knew the few words that would cause the breakage that led to all the implications that day had been leading towards. Rather than ask what had taken place between the two, Stan allowed Kyle to suggest whatever he wanted to about the obvious conversation he had shared with Eric Cartman.

Kyle said nothing of importance.

" I can't tell you, you know,"

" Then why bring it up?"

Those aquamarine eyes looked into the depths of the emerald gems desperately fighting back the tainted memory. The day stained with laughter from five years ago, the day of celebration that had ended with two souls torn asunder, lingered just beyond their lips. Stan felt himself reaching over and taking Kyle's hand in his own, squeezing it to share with him the indifference needed to avoid the screaming of those days when they didn't know any better. The Jew gripped his hand, gripped the necklace around his throat, and the words almost escaped. He almost said the words he had never allowed himself to utter.

The blaring sound of sirens cut through the broken moonless night.

Heading towards the McCormick place.

* * *

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	11. Midnight Embers

The crackle of fire consuming wood shattered the otherwise still night of summertime serenity. The embers danced through the heavy air in tune with the winds tearing the blaze higher and higher into the embrace of the desolate midnight hours. The entire McCormick place was engulfed in this hideous inferno, swallowed by the scorching heat and annihilated within the all consuming blaze. The fence had fallen into the ground, where it laid like the forgotten ruins scattered helplessly about the outer edge of a holy temple destroyed by heretics. The lawn was bathed in the blinding light searing down from the wreckage as thick smoke billowed into the peaceful, trembling air. The pulsating silence created by the immense gravity of the fire, however, was shattered as shadowed figures jerked and bolted in every direction about the small plot of land. Fingers jabbed towards the door welded shut by a twisted, melted frame. Screaming broke out in immense volume as fireman and police alike scrambled to perform the tasks they had been trained to. Sirens drowned out most of the white noise, though, leaving the place to suffocate beneath a layer of blanketed panic. Orders cascaded into the world as Stan and Kyle hurried down the cracked sidewalk to the hysteria just beyond the side of their world. As they rushed over the train tracks, more fire trucks rolled up as police lights splashed over the orange hues in eye numbing reds and blues.

Standing in the middle of the chaos was Kenny McCormick.

His head was upturned towards the massive flames which had turned his house into a vivid raging hell. The scathing wind swept his blond hair to the side, across his face, as his wide sapphire eyes took in all there was to see of the mayhem. Dressed in the same jeans as before, he suddenly looked so lost in the peril of the evening. The clothing hung in tatters from his body, ripped and trashed from the blackened soot circulating the screaming realm. Most striking was the ragged jacket burned with the same furious hues as the embers engulfing the wooden cage of his childhood. With the orange thing left undone, his hair was free, his face bare, and his eyes unshielded from the undeniable massacre of his entire world. He stared through the smoke, through the flame, with stones cut from sheer emptiness as the whole of South Park tried to salvage a house already gone.

Through the madness, Stan jerked, heading towards the lost lamb entranced as his house burned to the ground. He pushed away anything and anyone who attempted to stop him, leaving Kyle to stare in shocked horror at the flames raging throughout the damning hour. The activist cried out for his love, but his words were buried beneath the layers of shouting and screaming. Lost, tangled in the crowd, he struggled to reach the forsaken creature unknowing of the hands outstretched to grasp him. When he finally reached Kenny, he grabbed hold of those skinny shoulders and he tore him to face him in a single, fluid motion of commanding strength. The angel was bathed in soot baring an empty face devoid of anything remotely resembling emotion. Ice was carved into the sapphires which peered through a stunning disarray of caked on dirt, hardening every feature of fair to this beauty. This cold face, Stan cupped between his fiery hands. He felt along those soft cheeks, smearing the dirt, as his aqua eyes jumped along that lightly bruised depiction of tarnished splendor. He took in every hard line, soft curve, jagged cut, before his hands dropped to the tattered clothes swinging from that lightly shivering form.

Blood was splattered over Kenny's jacket in several long, thick streaks.

Tearing that bloodied garment open, Stan searched the blond's whole body for any injuries. Fear nearly erased his mind at the thought of discovering tears in that flawless skin, slices on those pretty curves, or, worse, burns carved into his flesh. His hands found contusions turning black and small scratches with dried blood in the wounds. As for major injuries, however, he found none. For that, he breathed a shaking breath of frozen air that washed through his soul and into his veins in a tantalizing jolt. Hands quivering violently, he cupped Kenny's face again. This time, though, he raised it slowly to look at his fear stricken gems pulsing with horror. In desperation, Stan pressed his mouth over the other's, embracing him with more hungry passion than ever before in his life. He drank down the taste of his love, all the bittersweet pleasure, all the sickening poison, before he pulled the angel into his arms. He pulled that face to his chest, where his heart was choking in its agony, and he held him there with frightening despair. He held him for dear life, for salvation, for everything, as he struggled to gather enough burnt air to speak. For several moments, there were no words. His hand just gripped those shoulders as his other stroked through those tangled locks of gold.

" Are you okay? What happened?" he finally managed to ask, his eyes staring through the haze of smoke to the sapphires looking so vague. Behind them, people cried out as part of the house collapsed under the weight of destruction. The activist pulled the angel back, away from the taint of smoke and brimstone. He watched the house burn, unable to even fathom it. For a second, all he could believe was that he had just been there, laying on his boyfriend's bed, a few hours beforehand. Glancing away, however, he saw the intense stare in which Kenny poised on the inferno. Again, he rubbed his thumbs over that sweet face, " Are you okay, Kenny?"

" I'm fine,"

The hollow words fell into the scathing air similar to glass falling into a furnace. They cracked and shattered into thousands of piercing splinters. Gently withdrawing, Stan rubbed his hands over those messy locks. The softness of morning was replaced by grit and grime from the ash of the flames ignited in the darkness of night. Ignoring this, even the agonizing pricks of bleeding, broken glass, the activist pulled his lover to his chest. There was protection wrought in every motion he made, seared into his flesh as if engraved there by hands beyond his own. Somehow, he felt a desire to protect his angel from the horrendous sight before them. The sapphires never once turned away. They continued staring, even as Kenny moved his arms up to wrap them lightly about the waist of the other.

Gripped as such, the two stood in the center of hell, watching as the McCormick place burned.

By the time the firefighters got the flames under control, most of the house was a gutted ruin of blacked framework and scorched flooring. Most of the windows had shattered from the pressure and heat building up as the inferno tore through the small house. As they began to put out the flames, however, a few people moved over to the only McCormick who seemed to have escaped the fire. Police touched his shivering form, trying to guide him from the wreckage with concerns for his health. Only at the prodding of Stan, of course, did he relent. He was taken from the center of it to an ambulance to be examined. The medics shined lights into his eyes and felt along his body for any wounds. They found nothing that the activist hadn't already. This prompted them to dust his jacket off and leave him sitting in a police car, his legs dangling out as he sat with his hands gripped the edge of the seat. Stan lingered just outside the scope of the medics' field of vision in order to remain close to the shivering blond. In impatience, he gritted his teeth and cast darkened gazes of torrid aqua waters in the direction of everyone who dared place their unworthy fingers on the body of his boyfriend. Left alone, in the continued chaos of disaster, the activist turned his eyes down to the widened orbs blankly watching as firemen attempted to fully flush the fire from the rotten wood of the McCormick place. Lightly, he ran his fingers over the dirty blond locks before he gently tucked some of it behind Kenny's ear.

" What happened?" he weakly asked, finding nothing else to say. His throat choked on those words alone as he stared down at the other. Ice pulsed into his veins in the pressing silence which overthrew the moment in a burst of electric horror. The crawling sense of disgust swam to the back of Stan's mind, although he bore no inkling as to where it came from. Watching those sapphires blink for the first time in all the time since he had arrived, it suddenly dawned on the activist that the disgust was from the emotion he could taste in his lover.

There was no name for that heinously depraved sensation.

" They're all dead," Kenny muttered without a tone to his flat voice. The disconnection was overwhelming as the activist gripped his hands in the mess of blond. He desperately tried to retain his composure, but the fiery breath of heat on his throat mixed with the sinking ice of his flesh helped in no way. He jerked his head from side to side as he tried to cup a face that would raise no longer to look at him. Those eyes could stare only one way, and that was towards the ruins of suburban oblivion.

" You don't know that," he harshly stated, gripping those shoulders in agony for having been refused the privilege of gazing into those eyes. As his words slipped unheard into the realm of time, however, Stan slowly felt the fire of the air withdraw from his core.

" They're all dead. I killed them," the angel whispered in a voice possessed. The emptiness of his expression was matched only by the maliciousness of his tone as it rolled like poison from his mouth. The brush of sickness in them melded along Stan's very being as his hands slowly withdrew in what could only be described as unimaginable shock. His aqua eyes stared down at Kenny in muted horror just before a smile unveiled itself along those tender lips. The smile was a sadistic, sinister expression of vile satisfaction that dripped heavily with perversion of the most corrupt kind, " They're already dead. . . I killed them. . .Killed them all. . ."

" Y-You. . . what?" the activist recoiled slightly as he gaped hopelessly for some form of explanation. He was presented with nothing as that smile deformed every fair feature gracing that dirt stained face with such empty eyes into a horrid look of true sadism.

" They're all dead," he repeated before he wet his lips in a disgustingly hungry manner. Ice poured over the brunette's blood as it began to come to an utter halt within his profoundly still body. Narrowing sapphires cut from the hardest stones known to earth, Kenny spat out his words with such malice that they almost physically tore through the other's skin, " An' now they're burnin',"

" Jesus Christ, Kenny! You fuckin' _killed _them?" Stan cried, jerking his hands back as though leaving them close to that body was a mockery of everything good in his entire being. His words were met with an expression mirroring that of his own. The look of utter disbelief on Kenny's face was as unnerving as it was frightening. There were no words to describe the way it made the activist feel as he gasped for breath that could do nothing to save his heart from ceasing to pump for all the mind numbing words being ripped into his skull. He was thus left unarmed and wholly unprotected as his boyfriend turned a resentful look his way.

" Why're you _mad? _" the blond pleaded without any form of true desperation to his agonized voice. Anger flooded his body, clenching his dirty knuckles until they bled out to white. A jolt shattered through Stan's spine, jerking his hands up almost to cover his ears before he just squeezed his eyes shut in a last attempt to bury to horror thrusting into his soul.

" What? You just killed your family and you're gonna ask me _that?_" he demanded, going to slam his fist into the roof of the police car. His hand never made contact with the metal, though, for the devilishly cold voice which spiraled out of his love's mouth stopped him. Every word pierced the hollow night with a bloody thrust into the underbelly of sanity.

" They got what they deserved,"

" Jesus Christ. . .Fuck. . ." his voice trailed away, lost to the noise of orders yelled out in vain attempts to remain calm. His fingers gripped his onyx locks of hair before he ran a hand through them in an overwhelming sense of anxiety. For a moment, there was a scathing quiet between them. No words could be spoken that would have been able to break through the unsteady cascade of emotions slicing their way through the troubled soul of the activist. He could express nothing, however, outside of raw horror as he lowered his eyes to Kenny. Slowly, he bit down on his lower lip, struggling on the frozen words bleeding onto his tongue with a tremendous pressure.

Those sapphires looked beyond the quaking activist to the blackened remains of the house on the wrong side of the tracks. The flames sputtered and choked as they were strangled into submission, falling away into the bleakness of death. Smoke continued to rise into the darkened air as firemen rushed the melted door of flimsy wood. The door crashed down into the gutted remains as the men in yellow burst through, hurrying into the house with cries ringing out. The windows of the front were splintered and tainted with blackened remnants of hell. They blocked all movement pounding through the house in the last lifeline, bloodline, it would ever have. Through the screeching of sirens, though, the call of 'bodies found' rang loud and clear as if spoken in the emptiest of empty corridors. The resounding echo grew colder every time it struck Stan as his eyes widened in unadulterated terror. Before him, Kenny's head slowly lowered, but not before the brunette could take in the revolting look of grinning pleasure written there.

" Why the fuck are you smiling?" he snarled, taking a step back in utter repulsion. The moment those words fell from his tongue, Stan wished he could snatch them back. Nothing could erase them from existence. They burned themselves into the bloody moment between the question and the answer. Seeing the way those eyes hardened into the disconnection of reality and depravation, the brunette nearly screamed out to drown the words that slithered into the air like a fiery snake. His fear of them was the same, for he recoiled in furious agony for their razor like qualities. Yet, nothing could prepare him for the hellfire Kenny breathed as his mouth coiled into a sickening display of mental insanity at the confession that spilled from his tainted tongue.

" Because. . .they were already dead. When I started the fire. An' no one's ever gonna know,"

Falling victim to those words, Stan felt his hands touch his arms without awareness to their heavy weight. His head quickly shook in minute motions as he cautiously mouthed the condemning sentences repeatedly. His fingers rubbed along his frozen flesh, trying to peel the cold from his body even as he knew the ice was pulsing in his veins, not the air. Around him, he was bathed in flesh melting heat billowing from the ruins like a festering wound on the face of the town. Inside, there was a growing hollow sensation that took with it the very essence of heat that circulated his blood. Hearing an airy, light, sickening snicker drift through the scorching hell, his eyes squeezed shut as his blood ceased to bleed.

" Stop it," he commanded in a voice strangled by his own inability to turn his head back towards his love. The laughter disintegrated into a broken gasping before there was the wet sound of a dry swallow. A shiver slipped down Stan's spine as a lasting sensation that radiated throughout his body.

" Stop what?" the angel asked in an emotionless voice that even felt hollow as it slammed into the fiery air pressing down upon them. Stan gritted his teeth in an attempt to avoid screaming. The effect on his words was a strained venom that he spat through the world to the devoid orbs staring at the charred wood work that had survived the inferno.

" Laughing like that,"

" They deserved it," the way Kenny said it, it sounded like a plead. Those dirty fingers gripped the sleeves of his blood stained jacket in a manner reflective of despair. Still, the hollow emptiness that echoed in the depths of those eyes never fell into the cries of his quivering voice. For that, Stan felt his eyes twisting from the blackened sky to the stones cut into that face. He gripped his hands in his hair as his head shook in disbelieving sickness.

" Why?"

The question should never have been asked. Stan knew that before he _ever _managed to choke it out, his body falling into the numbness required to express such morbid desperation. As the word lingered, twisting and turning in the embers, the activist watched Kenny fall into dark waters. The hands of death gripped hold of his shoulders, causing them to hunch as his body curled in on itself. He gritted his teeth to the freezing cold suddenly cascading into the world burning to the ground. The smile was gone in a gasp that was drawn into a throat closing in on itself. This fear swam into Stan's blood as he slowly felt his body drowning in the pools of a moonless night lost far off in the depths of lost memories.

" He hit me. For the _last _time,"

Black emotions consumed all the senses within Stan, leaving him an abyss of thick, pulsing electric rage that tasted like bloody metal piercing into the depths of his decayed soul.

" He what?" he spat out as his head ripped towards the angel rocking back and forth with sapphire eyes shocked into lifelessness. The aquamarine stones which took in those motions were consumed, eaten away, by the white out of hatred. Acid replaced his blood in a burning cold sensation that melted into his flesh and to the disgusted expression scorched into his eyes.

" He hit me. Over and over and over. I couldn't take it anymore. So I killed them. _All_ of them. No one's ever gonna hit me again," Kenny snarled, his fingers digging into the tattered remains of his jacket. His eyes turned away from Stan, falling beyond him to the gutted house that stood in it's deathly stance. Men dressed in soot stained yellow began to drag out black body bags as the angel gazed up through his tangled hair to Stan. The activist could only stare in horror as desperation clearly fell over that agonized face covered in dirt and blood. The words spoken were as hollow as the bell that tolled, " How can they if they're dead?"

" You're insane," was all Stan found he could say as he rubbed his arms along his arms. There was no answer given to the assessment. Kenny merely turned his empty gems to the ruins as the firemen dragged out a black bag for every member of his family. They began carrying out the children as the activist shook his head in lingering, unfaltering disbelief at this horror show, " I can't believe you killed them,"

" It was easy,"

" Shut up," he begged, slamming his hands over his ears to drown out all that might have been said. His feet stumbled to the side as his head jerked from side to side. The harder he shook, the harder it became to block the gasping noise slipping through the cracks within. A cutting slice stabbed through his mind, through his flesh, and into his memory like a hand reaching through the empty waters to grab hold of his horrified desperation to escape.

Blood splattered all over his mind as he saw her twisted corpse sprawled out over the slick, wet rocks drenched in thick, rotting flesh. Laughter oozed into the burning air as two slender hands grabbed hold of that broken, shattered neck and her body jolted in the motions of those tiny hands. Flesh ripped from her throat as small feet stomped on her pelvis. Her chest rolled, her body heaved, and blood splashed into the air, into his face, as he held out little hands for the globs of flesh. Sticky, warm blood cascaded through his fingers as he turned to face the blood stained mouth grinning through the moonless night.

Through the descending horror, footsteps broke the ranks of the nightmare. Two hands snatched up Stan's arm. His head jerked in that direction to see the wide eyes of emerald green within the blanched face of the Jew. Kyle gripped his arm with unprecedented strength, breaking him free of the dark waters that swam through the breaks inside. As soon as that frightened voice struck the air, the blood was gone as the water licked it away.

" The McCormick's!" the redhead cried, pointing off towards the house as one of the last of the numerous children were laid out beside the rest of the black bags. Stan shivered, his words frozen to his tongue, as he gaped at his best friend. The fire consuming them churned heavier, thicker as Kyle spat out his words with immense heat, " None of them survived,"

" I know," Stan stated in a voice lost to the emotions freezing his blood and piercing his flesh like needles. His body shook as he rubbed his arm, smoothing his icy fingertips gingerly over the burning flesh of the horrified Jew. Kyle jerked him closer, his words pouring out in absolute agony.

" _Stan, _they say it was _arson,_" Kyle whispered in tragic pain, his eyes an inferno of undisclosed emotion. Those emeralds never once took in the blond seated just beyond the activist. They never had to, for the voice spoke every word left unsaid without ever needing to vocalize them. Still, there was nothing Stan found he could say. Slowly, he lowered his gaze, his teeth clenching as he desperately tried to fight back the words he allowed to pierce the fire.

" I know,"

The words fell into the air with a weight that slaughtered any and all agony within the spitfire of the Jew. Kyle recoiled violently, his hand jerking away from Stan's arm as if he were the vile one. The harshness to those emeralds thrust through the brunette to the angel. Kenny never noticed. He merely breathed in slowly, lost in his own mind, his eyes emptily staring down at his outstretched hands covered in thick dirt. Without another word, the activist turned away, all the emotion leaving his face as he finally removed his gaze from the lines of the person he loved. The emeralds cut their stare deep into the disconnection scorching the fair features of Kenny's face. Shivering to this display, Stan rubbed his hands over his arms while the sickened realization descended on the Jew.

" Oh my god. He set the fire knowing they were inside," the words were ones that needn't be said. As such, they fell like knives through the air, cutting in deep. Kyle stared in wicked repulsion, his eyes searching the face of the activist as they jumped towards him. Stan lowered his head as black fell over his eyes. His hair shielded his face from all views, leaving him to the nothing within. Slowly, struggling, the Jew tried to reach out to take his friend's hand for what might have been comfort. Instead, his hand fell away, " Did he. . .intend. . .for this to happen?"

" Ask him yourself," Stan spat out, turning his head even further from them. Darkness spilled over his face, distorting his features. Cautiously, Kyle's eyes shifted from the unreachable activist to the angel sitting numbly in the police car. Sapphires raised up as though drawn by the pressure of the stare. The face presented to the Jew was an empty slate of emotionless indifference.

" Kenny?" he asked with obvious hesitation, his hands shaking in the air as though he were frantically trying not to grab hold of something. Those cold stones never filled with emotion as Kenny tilted his head upwards to look directly into the redhead's pale, terrified face.

" Accidents happen, Kyle,"

Kenny didn't even try to hide the smile on his face as the words left his mouth. The Jew slowly stepped back, his hands jerking up to cover his mouth. Stan pushed a hand to his own mouth as if he were going to be sick. Horror consumed the two of them in a fiery cold that raped them of the ability to think anything in a white black haze of metal fear. The sadistic smile of the angel began to widen as a twisted laugh lightly broke through the air. The sound was horrible as it scratched down their spines with a dragging, clawing motion of scorching heat. The metal slammed into the air with a lurch as the activist gagged into his hand. His feet stumbled forward as the last of the body bags was placed down and zipped shut outside the decrepit bones of the McCormick place.

Carol McCormick was a mangled corpse with melted, blacken skin and hollow eyes that stared through the fingers welded to her shattered cheek in a twisted position of permanent agony.

Laughter shattered the air as Kenny fell into delirious hysteria.

Beside the wheel of the car, Stan heaved up the bubbling sickness churning inside his cold stomach. Kyle turned to the side with a look of expectation, as if he thought someone would be there to protect him from the perverseness surrounding them in that midnight hour. When he found no one there, he collapsed to the ground, dropping heavily to his knees. The laughter pulsed through the darkened skies tainted by the flickering smoke of the fire. It ripped into the flesh of the others with a similar destructive nature of a bullet fired at point blank range. The wounds bled out profusely as the Jew covered his mouth in quivering disgust. Looking over his shoulder, Stan gritted his teeth in similar revulsion.

" You're sick," he hissed through his clenched teeth. His words cut through the air with shocking ice written in them. The laughter faltered until it stopped in its entirety. As it slipped from his mouth one final time, Kenny gripped hold of his arms in immense despair. He received nothing in the way of sympathy, for the aquamarine stones glared through the fire towards him. Jerking his hand, Stan wiped his mouth. Looking back, he saw something inside those sapphires that burned into his mind with horrendous clarity.

Hollowness.

" No. I'm _safe,_" the angel sobbed, although tears never fell from his empty eyes. Kyle turned his head towards him as Stan did. The stones of their fiery cold stones were met with the solid resolve of depravation of the other gems. Kenny bared his teeth in vicious reproach to their collapsed stances, " And I'm alive,"

" I can't do this," Kyle exclaimed suddenly, quickly getting to his feet. There was frantic hysteria overtaking his eyes that expressed more than even his words did. Stan felt his eyes widen in cold fear for what this meant as he searched the shaking head of the Jew for an answer. He could only find one word within his panicked heart to beg of those terrified emeralds.

" What?"

" I can't do this. He's killed. . .I. . ._No,_" the Jew cried out, cutting his hands in front of him in a desperate action to release himself from this cascade of events. The aqua gaze barely saw the disoriented action, however, as Stan stared beyond Kyle. Just as the redhead became aware of this, two hands slammed down onto his shoulders. Fear ripped through his face before he was literally torn off his feet and pulled backwards into a warm embrace quite unbefitting the moment of terror between the three souls.

" Somethin' wrong, Kahl?"

The voice of Cartman slipped through the fire like silk. The Jew jerked his head to the side as the Nazi pressed his cheek into the tangled mess of curls, his arms wrapped about the shoulders of the much smaller boy. Stan looked up at the heavier boy without emotion on his face as Kenny raised his deathly cold sapphires to the grinning face of the other. Kyle, on the other hand, let out a scream of incoherent mannerisms before he regarded his rival with an impressive look of remarkable disgust.

" Oh my fucking god! Don't _do _that, Cartman!" he screamed, grabbing hold of Cartman's wrist with both of his hands. The Nazi seemed unfazed by anything happening, for he smiled his usual honey smile. He pressed his lips to the plump cheek of the Jew, kissing him with a dramatic embrace that ended with a loud, smacking pop.

The moment afterwards, the Jew seemed to be lost in a world unseen. His eyes were frozen in a wide state of horror which almost resembled that of before, when he had gathered himself to his feet in order to run. However, when the ice was consumed by the raging embers within, disgust was not the emotion wrought in his face. Rather, his face hardened with rage as he twisted his body away. He shoved a hand deep into the girth of Cartman's vast middle to push him away. Cartman allowed him to do so, chuckling under his breath, as the Jew seethed and gritted his teeth angrily.

Behind the four, the McCormick house swallowed up itself as all of it caved it except for the front room. Dust and soot smashed into the air as the others flickering through the chaos rushed about in a scrambled hell.

" I can't believe _you _survived," the Nazi chided as he shoved the Jew to the side. He turned his topaz orbs down to the shivering form of the blond as he walked past the hardened glare of Kyle. He approached Kenny as two dead sapphires looked from the fallen house to the sugary eyes watching him with such intensity.

" It's easy to survive a fire if you're not in the forest," the angel responded with trembling bite to every scathing word. Whereas Kyle gripped his arms and Stan lowered his head to the dirty ground, Cartman roared with impressed laughter. His nodded with agreement, reaching through the still pulse of the fire pressing down on the four of them. His fingers touched the blond hair, frozen for only a minute moment in time. Then he messed up the blond tangles in what could be called childish amusement. Slowly, Kenny hung his head as his fingers pulled on the ratty fabric of his jacket. The way in which he hugged himself was desperate in its private agony, although it went unnoticed by the Nazi.

Stan jerked to his feet and slammed his hands into Cartman's arm, ripping those fingers from Kenny's hair.

" Don't touch him," he breathed out as he shoved the Nazi away. Kenny turned his head away, his hair falling in front of his hollowed out eyes. Stan merely stood before him, his hands gripped the car door and side in a wholly protective stance.

" Whatevah," the Nazi airily muttered, wiping his hand down his shirt as if he felt it dirty for touching Kenny. Waving the other three off with an air of indifference, he left the group. He headed towards the array of black body bags bearing the remains of the disaster. Stan removed his gaze, turning it towards the angel curling himself over his dirt stained knees. Kyle, however, watched through a sea of smoke and burning fire as Cartman walked to stand next to the corpses zipped up. With precision to every motion, he counted out each body, jabbing a finger to every corpse. His singsong voice counted out the numbers of the death toll until he came upon the last, Carol. There, his honey eyes slipped from side to side to see what he looked for.

Wetting his lips, Cartman then slammed his foot into the side of Stuart with enough force to send a piercing crack of burnt bone echoing into the air.

" ERIC CARTMAN!" Kyle screeched, his hands clenched at his side. The sound of his voice crashed through the air like a gun going off. Glancing over his shoulder, the Nazi seemed to take in the fury dripping off that shaking form. He turned towards the Jew, resting his hands on his curved hips in what could only be described as nonchalant annoyance.

" What?"

" Get the _fuck away from those bodies!"_ he screamed out, stabbing his finger down to point beside himself. Cartman looked at him as if he was looking upon a notorious killjoy, before he just pouted. He motioned down to the bleak, black bags at his booted feet. His motions seemed disconnected from the way his voice turned out in a venomously weak protest. There was a hauntingly playful notion about his whole demeanor nearly as disturbing as his answer.

" I wanna see 'em," he said it without any true conviction, even as he crouched down to unzip the bag of one of the many children laid out between the two slaughtered parents. Before he could, however, Kyle hurried over. Every step he took resounded with terrible anger that manifested itself in burning rage so livid, Stan felt it run over his flesh in a prickling sensation. The Jew grabbed hold of the larger boy and he struggled to drag him from the remains. There was a moment where the Nazi stood there, staring as his arm was unsuccessfully jerked. Then, moving suddenly, Cartman caught up the two slender wrists of Kyle. He yanked him so close to him, their mouths hovered only inches from one another. Fire pierced through the air as two emeralds widened, " Somethin' the matter?"

" You're disrespecting the dead," the Jew breathed out, his body shivering as he was pulled ever closer to the sweet death of those eyes. Cartman presented him with a tantalizing smile as he rubbed his thumbs over the soft flesh of Kyle's wrists. He tugged the smaller boy deeper into his waist, drawing him a fraction of an inch closer.

" They don't deserve my respect," he sneered down into the fire licking passionately over the flesh of the redhead. Kyle stared into those eyes wickedly running over his gasping mouth. There was longing hunger to the topaz gaze that cut like a knife into the soul curling with embers. Turning his head to the delicious looking invitation, the Jew whispered all he could think of to say in an attempt to derail this brewing dance.

" Kenny doesn't need to see you do this,"

" I don't think he cares," Cartman cooed into the throat of the Jew. His words melded like burning desire over the shivering flesh there. Falling into the rising tempo, Kyle gripped his hands into fists. He never attempted to fight for his release, however, as he felt the tender lips of the other brush against his throat. The horror of the evening was gone in a blinding burst of searing fire.

Still, Kyle squeezed his eyes shut for the lingering pain of his hand.

" Just stop,"

The command struck the scorched air with a totality of finality that could not be ignored. Eric gritted his teeth in utter hatred. Nevertheless, he released Kyle from his tight grasp. Allowing the Jew to steer him from the corpses, the two of them picked their way through the gathering crowds to the police car left alone. The lovers remained there, watching the rivals as they resisted their desire to strike at the other. Kyle folded his arms over the edge of the open door and pressed his forehead there, as if fighting a vicious headache. Cartman crossed his arms over the massive curve of his middle. Kenny stayed where he was, his hands gripping his jacket. Stan, however, reached out and ran his fingers through that mess of blond. He stroked it in the still silence for a moment. Then, with gentle care, he tucked a piece back behind his ear.

Suddenly, the words of an angel pierced the silence.

" I'm homeless," Kenny muttered as if he hadn't realized this before that moment. He seemed to come alive as he turned his eyes away from the burnt remains of his life. He looked up towards the others with a shell shocked impression of apathy. The death of his eyes melted away as he pushed himself into a sitting position, his dirty fingers smoothing over the cloth of his jeans.

" Then you shouldn't have burned it down," Cartman informed him, leaning against the side of the police car. The blond gave him a startling look of disgust while Kyle jerked his head in the direction of the Nazi. His gemstone eyes said all he needed to spit out, although he still hissed his opinion with one hateful word of warning.

" _Cartman,"_

" What?" the Nazi asked, shrugging his shoulders and motioning exaggeratedly to the poor boy. The emerald look he received was less than empathic. He disregarded it as he rolled his eyes with expertise, folding his arms back over his large middle, " It's true,"

" I had to burn it down," the angel mumbled coldly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the hollow expression they had worn throughout the evening. Before Cartman could prod for a further explanation, Stan held out his hand and rubbed his thumb over the soft cheek of the blond. Kenny peered up at him through his hair with an expression that the activist didn't recognize.

" You can stay with me," he gently assured his love, tilting the broken agony of sapphire longing up towards his face. Solemn confusion befell the lovely lines of the angel's face before he pushed his cheek into the warmth beginning to trickle from the activist's numb body. He whispered into this outstretched hand held out through all the blood, all the screaming, all the fire that provided such a hideous back drop to the scene.

" Where?"

" There's a guest room. Or my room," Stan answered without looking at Kenny. He turned his eyes to the faded appeal of the Marsh house so close to the world ruined by its own occupants. Somehow, the looming obstruction to the starry sky seemed further away than the stars in the endless horizon. Wetting his lips in quiet oppression to the answer he offered, he slowly dropped his gaze back to the eyes watching him with every ounce of need he felt in the shivering, quaking breath running like ice over his wrist, " I don't care,"

" You can stay with me," Cartman offhandedly suggested with a light shrug of the shoulder. Piercing emeralds ripped through the fog slowly sweeping over their feet from the falling smoke. The look was wholly ignored, as was the offer provided as an afterthought to a friendship underscored by personal disillusionment. The angel shook his head, giving the Nazi a slight look that bordered on the frustrated.

" I don't wanna stay with you. I'll stay with Stan," Kenny looked up at the love of his life as Cartman rolled his eyes dismissively. Yet, for all his disapproval, a small, fragile smile found its way onto Stan's face. Beside them, Kyle rested his forehead on his wrists as he closed his penetrating stare to the way the Nazi turned his attention to the blacked hell marking the breakdown of South Park society.

The roof of the wreckage caved in on itself, tearing down all except the front walls and whatever lay forgotten and discarded within the charred remains. The very last licks of the raging fires were brought to a close as the hoses were turned off and the bystanders all covered their mouths at the terrible sight. The McCormick place was left as a vicious burned scar on the face of South Park suburbia as a scorching reminder of the fragility of the human mind. While others turned their faces from the unabashed perversion of its outstretched cries, Eric chuckled at it. Kenny slowly got to his feet as Stan held out his hand to those blood stained, dirty fingers. Turning from him, the angel cast a final look of hollow disgust towards the last window remaining on the wall facing the kitchen destroyed. Reaching through the hellfire, Kenny took Stan's hand with a defiant grip as his nose scrunched up in utter distaste.

The window cracked, shattered, and broke into a thousand shards that scattered over the remains of the McCormick family.

Kenny walked away with his fingers intertwined with Stan's.

The smile on his face had never been more sadistic.

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Please read and review. Thanks.


	12. Avoiding the Problem Act I

A/N- We've decided to split the chapters up into smaller sections just to make the reading easier and to get chapters out faster.

Thanks for all the reviews! They mean a lot, especially since it takes so much to put together this story!

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Scenery within South Park was a plain, white canvas on which fate painted a portrait of things gone astray. The mountains, they provided the white black drop upon which the hideous scar of that little, quiet town was cut into like a long since healed wound. Stitching was provided in the blackened streets, but not even they could contain the disease rotting beneath the polluted desecration seen in the dead eyed people wandering about in zombie fashion. The buildings were a structured testament to the disease festering beneath the seemingly peaceful surface of those luminous things in the background. Shadows traced over the ground in weaving lines and splotches of prism like colors of all shades and hues. These thick washes of nighttime fell from the arches and hard breaks of the buildings that made up the long stretch of suburbia. These streets, the spider web of second story homes, rose out of the ground, built up in perilously close resemblance to good natured homeliness. The looming things of the main street were nothing in comparison to the houses, the homes, of South Park. The main road diverged to the left and spiraled out of control, spinning off into several directions incoherently. These mini roads were the streets that made up what was suburbia in the tiny, lost town in the middle of nowhere, far from the cries of society and civilization.

Every street was dotted with little, disgustingly foul homes. Painted in pretty greens and blues, they were idolized white picket fence monstrosities without the lacing of restriction in the forefront. Windows were coated in curtains, darkening the insides where small gemstones peered out to the world unknown in the early years. Distrust filled the air like the sweet scent of baking bread, bathing the streets with motherly suspicion and fatherly misdeeds. A pungent scent, the children born in bloody cries grew up on the porches looking on. They sat there in their sickened isolation, staring across the way at others baring the same shackles, the same empty stares, the same bruises. The street, she was the asphalt acid that bubbled between the stretches of roads, searing them apart and birthing forth a separate breed upon each shore.

The left was 'the street', known for its line of deep green and midnight blue homes. From her loins, she bore the diseased creatures known as the freaky four. Seated on tainted steps, the boy Marsh, the son Broflovski, the child Cartman, and the left over McCormick watched with hungry eyes as the others of their age walked in circles about their own heads. The heavy doors of the Marshes clattered as Stan shuffled out in his tees and jeans, staring through the iced waters of apathy. The heavy curtains of the Broflovski home shifted as emeralds loomed through tangles of blood while Kyle watched through the window as the others watched him. The empty corridors of the Cartman house echoed as Eric sat on his steps, leaning forward to look down the stretch of windows, his eyes of sweet honey topaz hollowed out. Sitting in the dirt, the swimming sapphires of Kenny glinted in the sunshine as the ruffian got to his feet. His feet were dirty and bare as the demonic angel stepped over the rusted, faded train tracks and made his unsteady way to the other three homes.

Their friendship was born from the isolation of hell hidden behind heavenly smiles. Parents stood behind their backs as they met one freezing day in the middle of September. The first day of school, they had finally shaken off the biting ache of iron restraints. Seated at the same table in the same classroom, the freaky four had stared at one another for several hours in the pulsating pressure of neighborly niceness. Only four, they had yet developed their methods of talking through glances and gestures alone. Words filtered through the air, then, in nervously diluted ways. Kenny was the first the speak. His jacket was lowered only a slight fraction, revealing cut lips, and he stated in a violently frozen voice his name as he had always referred to himself as. The words shattered the silence pressing down upon them, breaking off shards in a cascade of faltering smiles and halting laughter. Their names, their identities, were carved into the world as they reached through their seclusion to shake hands and smile. Friends by necessity, they had become melded into one entity within the year.

The photo taken the day they finished preschool was a haunting profile of the damning effects yet to be realized.

Standing before the street which raped their childhoods, the four smiled bruised, bloody smiles, holding the camera up over their heads. Four eyes of colored stones gleamed in the burning, scorching sunlight, as plumped faces pressed together in childhood innocence gone. Darkness befell their cheeks as the house pictured beyond their heads ripped a hole in the summertime laughter, captured forever in the horrifying reality of Kyle, Kenny, Stan, and Eric, the little lost lambs with broken stares.

The McCormick place. She cried as she withered in her burning demise.

Standing proud, she had been the victorious testament to what could be achieved when wood was strained, painted, and nailed together with the silence of children and the loudness of adults. The terror of the McCormick nine had long since adorned her porch as boots ran through the halls, screaming obscenities ringing throughout the walls like a never ending soundtrack. No one had graced their cracked steps the way they had when the inferno of repression consumed her broken bones. Try as they might, nothing could be done to undo the fifteen years of hellish conception within the confines of a prison defined by the scrap wood bars on the plaster windows. A mother, a father, and six of seven ruffian wrenches born to the two perished in the burning blaze that shrieked louder then any of those eaten alive. Their flesh seared, their bones broke, and they were found scattered amongst themselves in the gutted kitchen blackened to a dismal tribute to the one survivor's internal war. Salvation never found the McCormick place in her outrage, her outcry, until the nightmare was overthrown in the worst possible of ways. Prayers finally befell the ruins, though, as the ashy grey walls that remained cut into the town's scenery similar to blood escaping the stitching of a wound festering with disease. She was the infection revealed, the affliction brought to light, which bore a hauntingly familiar appeal of murderous intent. The fires which refuted the lies had opened the door to the rest of the spiders nesting in the webs of suburbia. Those who hid there, locked inside the darkened underbellies of the town, they stared in horror at what was revealed at the McCormick place. Despite honest protestation of it, what happened behind closed doors did not always stay there.

Unfortunately, the secrets did.

The words spoken between the freaky four the night Kenny burned the McCormick place back to hell stayed locked behind the gemstone eyes that conceived them. There had been no investigation into the origin of the inferno, regardless of the heinous nature by which it was birthed. Officer Barbrady had stood there, his pad of paper poised for the testimony of the fire chief. The heavy, glassy shades had been lowered a momentary fraction of an inch when the tainted word 'arson' was uttered out. Fingers had pointed to the sobbing wreckage of a family destroyed and the good officer had nodded solemnly. Closing his pad, he had cast a forlorn look towards the police car with the slowly revolving head lights of aqua and blood. The angel had been holding the activist's hand, leaning into him, as the Jew rested his head on the car door and the Nazi leaned against the cold metal. The four stones cut from the ground had turned to peer through the rising sunlight and lingering smoke to see that good man tilt his head in their direction. Without another word, Barbrady had declared the crime an accident and called off the search which had never begun. The four were left to their own devices as the cars rolled off the ash coated remains of suburbia beyond the wrong side of the tracks. No one asked anymore questions as the crime was left unsaid and the justice served was unjustly decided without the audience of judgment.

Seven days had crawled out from underneath the looming oppression of the blanketed murder scene. Kyle Broflovski sat on the steps of his own darkened home, his plump cheek pushed into the broken knuckles of his hand. A dark scar was cut into his finger, marking the moment of sanity lost, as his emeralds looked upon the ghastly reminder of such a thing. He looked down the street to where the McCormick place had once stood. The door was a twisted frame holding up the front walls, broken in places by the crumpling of the roof top. The rest of the place was a scorched ruin painted grey from the smoke as it descended back into the origin of its life. Deep, thick tire tracks sliced throughout the muddied lawn as if to remind the empty Jew of the bystander he had been as the raging flames touched heaven. He had stood there, in what had felt like the ice cold metal of fear but tasted like the searing heat of insanity, as the place had died. He had not been bothered until he had found himself tangled up in the hands of the Nazi tormenting him with his antics. Cringing at the memory, he swallowed down the biting flavor of disgust as the sapphires of Kenny swam to the surface. His division from the evening had cut him away to his locked up room for seven days. Kyle couldn't say he hadn't been avoiding the problem, but he wasn't willing to admit it. Nevertheless, he sat there, turning his orbs from the devastating testament of the trials of repression. Instead, he looked to the black and blue windows of the Marsh house only yards from his feet.

Whatever took place in the room hidden there was unknown to him. Kyle was aware that the devilish angel Kenny had moved into the guest room within the upper level of that house. Stan had pleaded amongst the devoid stares of the poor boy with Sharon to concede until guilt had pressured her opinion. She had consented with a wandering warning to the mindset of Kenny. Of course, lies had poured through the uneasiness to ease the woman into the blind oblivion customary of the townspeople. Without anything to carry, the blond had quickly settled into the room. He had spent several hours just sitting on his bed with the other three of his set of four. Stan had held him to his chest, listening to the steady pull and exhale of frozen air. Kyle had sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his damaged hands, unable to find the words to express the turbulent spiral within. Cartman had laid out on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, unmoved by the eight black bags loaded onto the truck with the painted on cross. Words had been exchanged, but not through the methods of verbalization.

The freaky four had been there before, although never with one of their own. The sentences untold, the secrets unfolded, the whispers unspoken, they drifted through the temperatures below the fiery expressions. They never asked, he never offered, and so it all went by the wayside. Sunlight soon found its way through the silted curtains of midnight blue as the final hours ticked down as time slipped on by. As the sunshine of summer laughter found its way over the dirt smeared boots of the Nazi, the conversation found its way to a close. The activist pulled the angel onto the sheets creased with motherly concern to appearances. Kenny had curled up there, his blood stained jacket tugged from his soot smeared body. Never looking back, he buried his face into the pillow as his shoulders shook violently with the hysteria echoing within the depths of the closed off realm of their world. The laughter was suppressed as the Nazi slipped off the sheets and the Jew idly rose to his shivering feet. Kisses were given as hands were gripped and consideration poised for the measurement of depravity lurking in the room. Cartman had patted the messy blond of Kenny's head as he had placed a hand on the small of Kyle's back. Steering his rival out, the two of differing tastes removed themselves from the Marsh home.

The walk through the morning dew was a silent step walk on a tightrope. Kyle held himself, his fingers digging into the frozen flesh of his churning molten core. Regardless of his own opinions of the matter, he had remained quiet. He had allowed Cartman to pull him close to his girth, to his warmth, as he petted those curls and those plump cheeks. His words were as sweet as the honey of his eyes, although they weren't heard by the deaf ears of the Jew. Still, the message was received as the Broflovski home had rendered itself visible to their eyes. Coming to a halt, they stood in their embrace as the lingering smoke fell to the ground about the remaining homes with locked doors. Walking him to the front door and squeezing his hands, Eric had told him the only thing that mattered in the recollection of the whole of the fire seared evening. He whispered into his ear the words of trust, the words of misused abuse, the words of the four lambs slaughtered but surviving.

Eric told the Jew _his_ door was always open.

Left then, Kyle had slipped into the lightless world of his home. The stairs had creaked in shrill shouts as he had made his way up to his escape. Inside his room, he had locked all the doors, all the windows, and he had crawled into his closet where he pressed his hands over his ears and screamed.

Seven days later found the Jew sitting still on his porch steps. His feet were bound in leather boots, his body in a once loose tee, as well as paint stained jeans. In the summertime, he was burning alive seated there. He didn't move, however, as he continued to stare upon Stan's bedroom window. For everything that had happened, he found his eyes unable to look towards the room next to it. He knew that was the guest room now inhabited by Kenny. The emeralds looked upon the blue curtains pressed firmly to the glass and he couldn't turn himself to stare at the pure, white ones of the other window. For a moment, he turned his eyes towards that house with disgust written on his pale face. Jerking his head away, though, he chewed on his lower lip. His fingertips ran over his quivering shoulders as he tried not to cry out. He never once stepped foot towards the two demons kept up there. All he did was turn in the other direction and search for something, someone, to lose himself within.

Strolling up the street was Butters Stotch in his innocent glory of the falling daylight. The golden spun locks of his waist long hair were pinned up, pulled back, into a lovely, seductive ponytail much higher than usual. The slender pony swung in time to his mute swagger as he tilted his pale face up from the cracks of the sidewalk when he approached the only other living being upon the whitewashed stretch of road. His orbs never found Kyle, however, for he was quickly seduced by the silver cell phone held loosely in his tiny, childish hands. His baby face screwed up in confusion wrought in every small, subtle line there. He read over the words and symbols there with fluttering eyes of clear eyes of aqua hue. Although obvious that he was unsure of the symbols, he didn't appear confused as to their meaning. This allusive appeal, however, drifted away into the burning sunshine as those eyes once more flitted upwards to gather the blank, unremarkable world surrounding his casually clothed body. Turning those eyes up, he spied the Jew watching him through the tangles of blood. A smile of sheer energy was presented as a hand was waved in the direction of the leering Broflovski home.

" Hiya, Kyle," the innocent chirped with a certain air of unimaginable happiness considering the time of day that it was. Butters stood in front of the shadowed steps in his worn out blue shirt, his tattered jeans, and his sleek boots. For all the brightness to the colors, the emeralds found an attraction to the strikingly familiar boots bound by bubblegum pink laces. He looked down at the leather things with an idle stare that traced over the loose folds of shoes far too big for the forever young Butters to be wearing.

" Hmmm?" Kyle droned out, his voice thick with heavy sleep pressing down upon him from the fiery air licking over the summertime day. His eyes slowly raised up to the immeasurable smile fastened into place of the unreadable Butters' face. Rubbing one eye, the Jew glanced away as if forced into the action, " Oh, hi, Butters,"

" Whatcha doin'?" the child asked, his head tilting. He looked as though trying to locate some form of activity, a game or book, behind the redhead. Finding nothing, the blond gave him a wildly puzzled look somehow devoid of real commitment.

" Nothing really," the Jew mumbled into his fist as he stifled a yawn. A slight flicker of ember within made his eyes open almost to their entirety. Unfortunately, the pulsating boredom of avoidance lurked within his cloudy skull. He found himself incapable of becoming wholly engaged in a conversation Butters didn't seem too dedicated to either.

" Oh. . ." Butters uttered, allowing his prolonged curiosity to draw his vaguely wandering attention back towards the porch beyond the yawning Jew. His light eyes searched the premise yet again for any form of indication as to why Kyle sat alone on the steps in hundred degree weather of a June afternoon. As he did the first time, he found nothing more than empty space radiating with negativity. His search was uninterrupted by the redhead, who closed his eyes momentarily to the spiral of disinterest. Opening them, he saw that the blond as looking towards a beeping cell. A small, dejected sigh escaped virgin lips as worry filtered through that young face, " Aw, hamburgers. . . ."

" Grounded again?" he absentmindedly asked without any of the intrigue he normally would have held for such a thing. Nevertheless, the emptiness aching through his body caused him to gaze up at Butters. He was given a blank face that was bordering on shock before a small, practiced smile poised itself on those sweet lips.

" Nah. Jus'. . .uh. . ." the blond stumbled over the words as his voice trailed away to nothing. Chewing on his lower lip, he cast the Jew a look remotely similar to fear. The metal wash found in those eyes of shimmer was startling enough to cause Kyle to sit upright. Regardless, the voice paired with such a frightening expression was the same gentle prodding of the innocent's normal day dreaming drawl, " Hey, you wanna come over?"

" Why?" Kyle shortly snapped, his fingers slipping over the length of his thighs as he eased back into his half fallen forward position. The bite to his words didn't appear to have any effect on the innocent. Of course, Butters had been subject to much worse timbres in the length of his short life with a companion such as the snarling Nazi as close to his person as he certainly was. A little bitterness rolled over his pink flesh like a pleasant summer's breeze in light of the searing screaming of the ill tempered tyrant that was Cartman.

" I'unno," Butters honestly answered. He simply shrugged without the least bit of concern for the offhanded gesture it could be taken as. In a similar fashion, he motioned between the tired emeralds and his own flat waist, " 'Cause you're alone. I'm alone. We could hang out,"

" Not interested," the Jew spat out as he turned his head to the side, his broken knuckles digging into his jaw line. His eyes scanned the bleak horizon somewhat dismally, his lips turning into a persistent frown. Before him, he saw those breathtaking boots shuffle in what could have been uncertainty. Hearing a small sigh running along the tension of the warm air, his eyes shifted back to the empty look being granted.

" Eric ain't gonna be there," Butters assured him, holding his hands out like he were surrendering himself to the words he uttered. The confidence to the meekness was a juxtaposition strong enough to jar the fires free inside the blood of the Jew. A flare overtook to lingering dread sickening Kyle as his eyes narrowed a touch. Wetting his lips, he jerked his body back so that he was sitting more upright and thus could give the innocent a look of resolute contempt. Heat spilled into the flesh of the redhead as he gritted his teeth to the unintentional jeer.

" Why would I care if Cartman was gonna be there?" Kyle sneered, allowing the burning fire ripping into his blood to find a place in his words. The spitfire was noted in the subtle raising of Butters' eyebrows. However, the blond never withdrew from the steadily rising fury within the glowering other.

" Y'all don't get along," the innocent plainly stated, pointing down at the furious stare tossed his way. Butters' orbs were wide as if stunned that Kyle was not aware of the obvious notion he suggested. The look, however, was surprisingly cynical even as it was about as violent as the fluffy pony hanging from a top his blond head.

" That's because Cartman's an asshole," the other hissed as he slumped back to his previous position. His feet tapped out in vile frustration as fire breathed over the back of his neck. There was a moment when he wished to grab something, to hurl it into the superbly blank look of the child, but he resisted the urge. He hoped only that his snap would be removed with a deliciously cold remark to which he could bare his venom and strike with the force suppressed. Instead, there was a causal look of empty awe as light eyes glanced around in mild confusion to why the statement was even being addressed towards him. Butters voiced this mixture of concern and detachment with two innocent words.

" I know,"

" I dunno how you're friends with him," Kyle growled under his breath, his face falling into an expression of disgust. The emeralds looked away then, as he swallowed a vile word that was not meant for the virgin ears of the innocent. Regardless of his intention, he received nothing underlined with anything remotely close to what he sought. Instead, Butters knocked his knuckles together in weakened resolve, chewing his lower lip as if tasting the effectiveness of his speech.

" Well, shucks. . . it's 'cause I ain't got no other friends," he explained without a tone of matter of factuality. Rather, his tone was the gentle pressure of a calm summers day much like the scorching one that surrounded them. Despite the overall appeal of his timbre, Kyle reacted tremendously to the words. His eyes jerked back to the blond standing idly before him. He gritted his teeth and pushed his thumb roughly over the torn lines of his faded jeans.

" I'm your friend," the Jew barked out, glaring through the loose locks of his red hair. Butters didn't appear fazed by the observation as Kyle jabbed an accusing finger his way, " We never hang out,"

" I know. No one hangs out with me. . . 'cept Eric," he responded lightly, shrugging his shoulders as he said it. The Jew regarded him with a look begotten from the embers surging to the surface in a jolt of uncontained agitation. Kyle felt himself clench his fist as he saw those eyes look upon him in what could of been consideration. As to what was considered, that was the lost to the unreadable depths of the innocent's cascading image of forsaken childhood purity.

" No one hangs out with you _because _of Eric," the redhead mumbled darkly through the pull of fiery haze. Fingers like the icy hands of delirium slipped over his shoulders as he rubbed one of his eyes hard enough to qualify as an attempt to draw his attention back into focus. His blood still livid with fresh flames, he growled under his breath as he desperately tried to swallow the embers threatening to escape.

" Golly, I jus' said he wasn't gonna be there an' you still don't wanna hang out," Butters protested in a weakened manner which reflected his obvious exasperations with the conversation at had. For all his mild objections, however, his feelings went unnoticed as the Jew felt the pulsating embers pierce his blood with unheard of vengeance.

" I never said that," Kyle bitterly spat out, the fire within searing every word he expressed. Glaring at the innocent, he pushed his trembling form into an upright position. Yet, his venom meant nothing to the wild confusion cascading over Butters. Those light eyes jumped away, as his brow furrowed, in a tremendous effort to understand the fiery expression harshly poised before him. His own bewilderment was met furiously by the look which overtook the Jew's face as he waved his hand to the side in dismissal, " Why wouldn't I want to come over? I'm just sitting here alone, and it's hot out,"

" So, you wanna come over?" the child restated slowly, his head tilting slightly as though the shift of vision would help him asset the sudden change within the other. Rolling his eyes, Kyle started to get to his feet with some trouble.

" Well, _duh,_" his tone slipped through the tight air with a feel mimicking mockery. As per usual, the innocent didn't appear to realize this. His mouth simply upturned into a fragile smile of uncertainty while the Jew rested a hand against his head as though to steady himself. Standing on his own two feet, for all the struggle to find balance amongst the ever shifting embers, he dusted off his butt and gave the child what felt like a penetrating stare. The smile shook as those knuckles knocked together.

" Uh. . . .Okay,"

" Eric's not gonna be there, right?" the Jew questioned offhandedly, rubbing his hands over his dirty, stretched jeans with careless concern. The stunned look that overtook Butters' forever young face was alarming enough to make him fiercely aware of the haze bubbling beneath the surface. Still, Kyle swallowed down the aching fires curling themselves in his blood. In front of him, the child vaguely nodded as suspicion mutely clouded his pure orbs of untainted treasures.

" Nuh-uh,"

" Good, 'cause I don't wanna see Cartman," he snapped without the nasty timbre of before. Rather, he smoothed his quivering hands through the tangled locks of his bloodied hair. For a moment, there was a pause in which his emeralds lingered on the foreboding blue curtains of the house reaching for the burning hells of heaven. Gritting his teeth to that calling, though, Kyle ripped his head towards the absentminded misconception of Butters, " He's been a total ass to me lately,"

" Yeah. . . .Eric's been a pill. . .Or somethin'," the blond muttered to himself as his hands flipped over the phone he had put up for a momentary second in time. His slender fingers gripped the silver instrument, tightly, grimly, as though expecting a phone call to summon him away from his mildly distracted companion. Kyle heard the words the way he would have heard a scream in the distance; faded from a void that couldn't be crossed in time to spare the screamer its agony.

" I don't know how you're friends with him," Kyle sneered as he took a hesitant step off the porch and onto the burning cement smoldering beneath an unforgiving sky. His words melted into the searing air as two wide eyes of devoid innocence opened up to view the light, glowing screen of the silver sliver.

The whispered words uttered next were frozen in the chasms of time, forever caught in the tragic division of senseless reality and surreal imagination. They wholly engaged Butters' attention towards the flickering symbols upon that microscopic insight into the mind decorated with such passionate displays of neurotic pleasure. Kyle, however, found himself jolting at the two words that lingered in the air, heard but not understood. His head turned sharply as those tender, untainted lips moved, revealing the cause of the pulsing pause.

" . . . .or someone. . . ."

Airily, the words of terribly beheld purity struck the repression of the Jew, shocking his startled eyes open to gaze at the tangled mess of Butters' confused expression. Yet, for all the attention the redhead gave to the blond, it was not returned. Rather, the child merely scratched his head in bewilderment as he reviewed the haunting testament to whatever he did not address. Then, wetting his lips, he snapped the phone shut. The second the connection was severed, those light eyes were poised on the delirious emeralds of the fiery Jew. A wide, coldly complacent smile was presented to Kyle as the phone disappeared once more.

" Boy howdy. . ." Butters tone suggested he was trying to smooth over damage that hadn't been done yet. However, the look to his sparkling eyes were familiar in the most unpleasant of senses. There was emptiness, icy as the death of winter, for all the lingering touches of sheer childish wonderment. A shiver slipped unconsciously down Kyle's back, recoiling him from the blond a step or two. As he moved, though, the embers churned, plunging him into the deep, heavy embraces of the throbbing headaches of suppressed screaming.

" Yeah," his voice was short and curt, as much as he tried not to spit fire. Tension grasped his words furiously, tainting every attempt as supposed kindness. While Butters idly smiled to the shocking spite, Kyle stretched in one final attempt to shake off the building rage circulating within. There was a jolt, a piercing pain which stabbed through the base of his skull to the forefront of his mind, and his body jerked to its sudden appearance. Unwillingly cast into the shivering clutches of his spiraling inner demons, the Jew stumbled head on into Butters' lithe form. A second passed where light blue met deep green before Kyle pushed himself off without regard for the pressure applied, " What'd you think Cartman's doing?"

" Shucks, I dunno," the blond mildly answered, swallowing hard and giving a weak smile. His tiny hands knocked knuckles, as if he were fighting with himself from changing the subject. Kyle just sneered venomously, losing himself to the grips of the demonic hell blackening his words and dripping into the burning timbre of his words as they cut through the summer's day.

" You're his best friend. How do you _not _know?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing in the direction of the unconcerned look of the other boy. Butters chewed on his lower lip before he licked his lips. Every action suggested he was tasting his words for poised decency, but there was something else. Kyle felt his teeth baring in defense, a breath of fire dancing upon his hardened orbs. He regarded this child hotly, haughty, as his curls tilted as he inclined his ear to whatever excuses surely created.

" Golly, I don't keep tabs on 'im," was the only thing Butters said in his defense of the proposed lacking. He didn't acknowledge the growing agitation contorting Kyle's beauty into a scowl. For all intents and purposes, his widened eyes of sheer blue seemed to see through the screaming heat and to the bubbling core of molten hatred. For whatever reason, he observed the insight of bloodied consumption with apathy for its disgusting appetite for flesh.

" Why not? He's crazy," Kyle actually heard the bite to his bark with such clarity, he, himself, was surprised. His voice sliced razor thin over the words, drawing blood in the freshest of manners. Blood spattered hung in the air as those notorious gems glinted in wild abandonment to the momentary lost in the gripping fires. As Kyle caught his tone, he found himself tearing himself from the bleak oblivion of the infernos darkest chambers of the untold. Dryly smiling in his most vicious manner, he retracted some of the unchecked fire with one simply stated question of muted anxiety, " Shouldn't you do that?"

" Uh.. . . Eric makes it difficult to keep tabs on 'im," the innocent informed Kyle with a calm, although firm, voice. The expression he wore was unimpressed with that biting trembling still between them. Honestly, once more, the Jew was left to the conclusion that his obvious bloodlust was unnoticeable to the child spawned in the clutches of the nefarious Nazi.

" I don't know how you're friends with him,"

" Me either," Butters wholeheartedly agreed, his eyes widening a slight touch in their desperate need to assert this point. Aside from those glowing orbs, however, his face was empty of emotion. Somehow, the lack of expression unnerved Kyle to the point he felt himself easing away. He gripped his shivering hands to his sides, unsure if he was willing to continue on the path he was walking.

Nevertheless, despite this unheard of unease, when the child started down the street in the direction of his own house, the Jew followed suit. To be sure, his steps were reluctant, leaving him to lag behind. One arm wrapped about his fuller middle as his other raised to push his icy fingers into his burning forehead. The moment he did, to his suspicious surprise, Butters' head looked in his direction. A slender finger was pointed at the way his emeralds darkened.

" Are you okay?"

There was no describing why it did, but whenever Butters Stotch had to ask if you were okay, it sounded unmistakably like an piercing insult. A slap to the face, it cut through Kyle in a arrow fashion. To this unnatural feeling, this penetrated revelation, he spat out his only appropriate answer. In the summer day glow afternoon, it sounded hollow as the grave and nearly as cold. Regardless, it did not hold any of the finality usually accompanying the chill of death.

" Yeah, I'm fine,"

" Is it 'cause of Kenny?" the child question, without ever needing to say what 'it' was. None of the insiders ever needed to say it; to address what was meant by such a vague assessment of the situation. One of the most privy of those insiders was Butters and he certainly did not need to further explain himself. The redhead heard the underlying words as his fingers quickly tore away from his loose curls with a curt motion. The taste of fire licked over his tongue as he swallowed away the poison threatening him.

" No, it's because of. . . .yeah, it's because of Kenny. It's terrible, what happened to them, isn't it?" he switched through the topics without even noticing what he was saying until he had already turned his head to look towards the blond for a reaction. Butters looked upon him with a tone that looked through his every word. There was ice in those enlightened eyes cold enough to trace freezing fingers over the roaring embers of the Jew. Slowly, Kyle breathed out the repression as his words tumbled out beyond his control, " People shouldn't hurt their family,"

The silence which enveloped them seemed to hail from the very air and nowhere in the same breathless moment. There was not a second of hesitation as Kyle stopped walking. He did so as if possessed by the charms of someone far more persuasive than himself. Hands from the afterlife, they touched his face with loving embrace as his head tilted and turned to the pressure invoking such a frightening reaction. Haunted orbs of gemstones peered through the unseeing sunlight to the darkened, closed off curtains of the forsaken Cartman house. The building constructed on the card house of lies poised herself before his eyes for all his disgusted nature.

As he looked upon it, upon her mistake, Butters slowed to a close only a few steps beyond him. His every motion suggested his desire never to look up, to never be seen at her doorstep, nor anywhere near its presence. Still, he stopped, still he knocked his knuckles together, and he presented himself to the lingering touch of the crying ground that the beast of a suburban lie rested on. Grappling with his previous convictions, though, the innocent attempt to say a word towards the distant leering of the house down the street from the Broflovski homestead. Finding nothing to say for it, Butters dropped his eyes to the broken pavement below as he mumbled his confusion towards the slip he had managed to hear.

" I didn't know. . . .he. . .they hurt him," his words couldn't have been said with more than an ounce of conviction towards their meaning. Unfortunately for Butters, the double standard attached to anything of the sort with regards to the freaky four immediately reacted.

In a broken, haze of drunken fury, Kyle reeled backwards internally as he physically steeled his haunted gaze to those innocent orbs of pale blue. Faintly, vaguely, just beyond to confines of his deluded mind, he recalled the words to leave his mouth. The assessment of those related and what they shouldn't do; people shouldn't hurt their family. Those few words, uttered outside his center of control, they had provoked such a easy, honest response from Butters. Yet, even if he was the one who has instigated this conversation, Kyle felt a rush of untamed fiery hell consume his weathered mind.

Privilege has always been a granted gift within the inner circles of those in control. Within the limits of that particularly commended strip of suburbia, the freaky four constructed this fragile thing. At that moment, in light of the residual embers of the midnight destruction at the McCormick place, that fragile thing shattered. Heat, fire, raw and unabated, coursed through Kyle's bloodline. His teeth gritted down, the emerald stones glowing in a dimmed hellfire creating an instantaneous ceasefire. Before the whiting creases of his forsaken hatred for having to protect someone as viciously devious as Kenny, the Jew sprang into action. Knowing those words, hearing them, and what they mentioned to the closed off world of the ruined McCormick stronghold, was a privilege Butters was not entitled to.

Even if he had known all along that Kenny suffered far worse that the bodies of his former tormentors.

" There's a lot of things you don't know," he snarled in an entirely divided timbre of scorching fire and searing embers and smoldering rage. Sweet rage, lost beneath a masque of smog, rose to the surface with frighteningly clarity. Kyle was caught wholly off guard by the freezing heat of its assault. In a breath, however, it was whisked away and he was left shivering, his fingers gripping his sides, as two wide eyes descended on his face coated in unreasonable pallor.

" Well, golly, you ain't gotta tell me that,"

Butters' words fell on deaf ears, for those Jew's eyes were ensnared by something much more captivating with childish purity. Rather, he stared up and beyond those pale eyes in a pale face with such pale stains of vice against virtue. He stared at the tainted majesty of the Cartman place, with darkened windows mirroring the other prisons of the neighborhood. That crypt beckoned to him with the fair scent of amore and death lingering within freezing, burning embers. Before he could help himself, he took a step around Butters as the words were pulled from his lips without his control.

" I'm gonna go see. . .I'm gonna make sure he's not doing anything," his voice trailed off in a tangle as fingers of sugary passion strangled the excuse. He knew he need not explain himself to Butters, of all creatures, even if he had no inkling where such a confidence came from. Nevertheless, he drifted through the frozen flames of seductive instability.

Before his eyes, the Cartman home rose up through the shadows of family falsehood. Into it's damning grip, Kyle stepped, leaving all purity behind.


	13. Avoiding the Problem Act II

The Cartman place was one of those suburban lies which forever littered the sides of the South Park streets. Like a dark memory trapped beneath thick layers of stark denial, it was lost to shadows even in the daylight. Kyle stared up at it as it rose from the street with it's mockingly charming appeal. Fiery heat bathed him from the sun up above, but he felt much colder as his emeralds slipped over the tightly drawn curtains sealed much like the doors to reality. Like the McCormick place before it, this was one of those diseased pieces of humanity which stained all which looked upon it far too long. Standing there, Kyle knew not to approach, even as his boots tracked over the broken sidewalks taking him from his sickly empty house to this one masquerading as a home.

Chills shivered up his spine as one hand fell from his side. It dangled there, lifeless, as if waiting for someone nonexistent to clutch it in kindly motions. Instead of feeling tender flesh gripping his body, he was verbally assaulted by innocent words tailing after him from the brink of sanity. That child's voice was a measurement of the gravity of this situation; a weighing of whether right or wrong when both knew which it was. Still, that shy sound drifted through the troubled waters so deep down to the underworld, they were engulfed in that onyx shade.

" 'Kay. Ask if he wants to come over," Butters sweetly requested, his feet crunching on loose gravel as he decidedly didn't follow after the Jew. There was a vague response tossed back over Kyle's shoulder. It was something dual repeated, although it might as well not have been said at all. As it stood, it was a throw away from a victim captured wholeheartedly in the lull of some great seduction. Thus, Butters quickly abandoned him to his ill sought quest, for this innocent could sense more than the redhead could from that particular house, " Bye,"

The sounds of Butters leaving were muffled by the sounds of Kyle descending into the pitfall that was the Cartman house. Even as many times as he had stepped up onto those steps, he still felt foreign, alien, unwelcomed by the pulsating aura consuming this vile structure. His fingers slid up the paneling around the door, left unlocked in the facade of neighborly goodness. Every stroke was something bizarre, something unknown. The Jew felt the wood in a way that told him, quite certainly, that he could just push forward and shatter the fragile foundation. He knew why he felt that way. He knew it to the point that his fingers trembled in fear of his own strength. Jerking away from that past reflection, he eased open a door which screamed viciously in violation. Quivers danced along his prickling flesh, a hard swallow choking down the first burst of searing embers tasting so sweet, they gagged as they choked.

Gasping for breath, then, Kyle slipped inside the stale air of the two story hell near his own. There was no thought to this methodical process. One second, he had entered the torture chamber, the next he was creeping up the stairwell to the execution scaffold. Every creaking board brought him closer and closer to the vibrating music consisting of sexual innuendos. A bass line like a moan melded upon his suddenly roaring inferno, seeping into his blood to the point of stopping his heart in the explosion of sheer heat. Flames licked from his throat to his tongue, twisting into words he longed to spit out. Yet, with every lingering sense of dry frustration, he ignore the music hailing from Liane Cartman's bedroom of sin. He couldn't help the face which overtook his beautiful features. He could, however, help barging into that woman's personal demise to accuse a harlot when nothing good could come from such a waste of time. Forcing himself away from leering over her doorway, where her squeals echoed, he turned to gaze at the Nazi's door.

His fingers touched the lightly blood stained swastika etched there before he eased the door open a fraction of an inch. Like he had before, he peered through the sliver to see inside the bloodied room of his eternal oppressor.

Every poster had been ripped away from the walls. They laid in shreds over the broken pieces of a lamp which was in front of a glorious dent in the red painted world. Clothes of a different style coated the whole of the bedroom, from the desk scattered with makeup stains to the bed with sheets torn in half to the floor scattered with expensive, shattered pieces of jewelry. These clothes appeared to be objects of gold rather than just clothes, for they were stitched in fashionable memories of a distant era of indulgence. To that end, they were the colors of darkened corridors of an older movie bearing one Hepburn and others even older from the days when prostitutes were known as blowsies. Yet, for the reflective nature, there was no denying the richness stolen in the silken fabrics, the lace, the lingering stones attached to collars and hemlines. These sparkling things captured all attention in their queenly attraction until those emeralds caught sight of their matching heels dangling on the edge of the bed. Six inch heels gathered up the light, cascading it down over something not even Kyle had ever seen in true reality.

A luscious wig of chocolate colored fluff was resting on one of the end tables just next to the bed frame. In place of the CDs and comics of before, there was only this revealed selection of torrid night lights. It's locks were highly stylized, pairing well with the gorgeous garments discarded around the room. This famed thing was stained in glitter, throwing back and taking in the dulled lights of the place as though in a frantic dance. Illuminated in it's devious appeal of cigarette smoke, martini glasses, and white lines, this wig coyly replaced all of Kyle's fiery rage with a rush of freezing fear for reasons unknown.

Unable to take it, the Jew jerked his eyes away from the wig's puckering pleads. He looked towards the wicked creature to whom he had been possessed into searching for. The heat of the day mirrored the rising fire within his chest as his cheek pushed into the unmoving wood of that doorframe. Cartman was laying on the disaster of his bed, his glittering cell phone rested on the ample arch of his stomach. One hand, decorated in deep nail polish and gaudy rings, was pressed over his face in a likening to embarrassment. The Nazi muttered words of German to himself as he shook his head from side to side in a similar fashion. These words plucked at Kyle's heartstrings almost as much as the disappointment he felt spiraling over his burning core. For all the luxurious teasing outfits about the room, his preferred object of tantalizing desire was dressed in an old tee with a foreign saying on his chest and some ratty jeans weathered quite a lot. Thus, Kyle mutely frowned as he watched Cartman pick up his cell phone and flip it open to a new screen. Something was muttered, although so low under the breath that the redhead couldn't even make out the language.

" Fuckin' bitch," he sneered out in that wonderfully coy accent of his. The brunette pushed himself into a sitting position as he tossed the disliked phone to the floor. It made a small clatter as it connected with one of the bejeweled blouses making that frightening room so intoxicating.

A small smile, hot as the breaths escaping his mouth, snaked it's way over Kyle's face. His shoulder slid up the side of the doorframe in a slow, deliberate manner as he gave the door a wide push. It collided with the opposing wall as his darkly illuminated stones peered hungrily through the stunningly red of his curls. The shocked, wide, haunting honey orbs of the other stared at him as the doorknob echoed a soft clink throughout the inferno brewing between them.

" You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Cartman," Kyle whispered, his voice slinging into the air as his hips swayed slightly. The pressure of this fire nearly brought him to his knees, catching his breath and strangling him perfectly. His fingers trembled as he leaned all his weight into that doorframe to keep from collapsing.

" Screw you," was his curt answer. Two sugary eyes dropped down the length of Kyle's shivering body with mild interest, although not a word was cast to address it. Instead, Cartman leaned slightly back, giving the Jew the go ahead to steer this conversation in whatever direction he so wished. Unfortunately for the both of them, Kyle felt himself asking the more obvious question to what seemed like a long list of needed questions. He knew why he said it. Nothing he asked would get a straight answer, so he might as well not infuriate the churning, yearning fires anymore than just looking at that lovely face was. After all, he didn't know what would happen. Not today.

Any invitation today might just end in moonless waters.

He could feel it in the way he breathed in that clean scent of death.

" What're you doing?"

" That's really none of your business," he simply stated, as expected to. The red curls tilted forward as the Jew's head turned harder into the firm wood holding him up. One hand raised, pointing an accusing finger at the honey eyes observing his internal meltdown with a word. This front was crashing down to the rising sounds of a song not yet asked for, for the world around them was searching out into a blackened ballroom already.

" Who're you texting?"

" Your brother," a half smile accompanied this snippet. For all it's playfulness, though, Kyle's heart jolted when the unfamiliar flavor of regret pooled from the base of his mind to the tip of his quivering tongue. A foul taste, it stung viciously into his every core, creating a mimicking sensation of burning so false it racketed the Jew's body. Every inch of flesh crawled as his teeth gritted, his face flushing as ice cut through his eyes. The words leaving his mouth were colder than he meant, which was saying something, as he meant to spat them out like a mouthful of dead, thick blood.

" My brother doesn't _have _friends," he sneered through his teeth, the sound between hated agony and furious rage. Blood pounded in his ears, nearly blocking out the sarcastic dismal presented to his misplace emotions. A hand was waved in his direction to drive home the utter unimpressed nature Cartman held for this display of minute weakness and fierce fiery resolve not to leave.

" Whatevah," the Nazi mumbled as his phone exploded in a deafening sound of a pop single. The little thing screamed with another text message, probably of the same vein as before. He didn't even give it a quick glance. He didn't acknowledge anything other than the way Kyle was watching him through the tangled curls of his locks. The song died almost in cue as the shaking Jew wet his lips with one slow, seductive motion of his slick tongue.

" I came to make sure you weren't doing anything. . _bad,"_

Something about that word tasted wickedly wrong for the moment, even if it was the correct term. It smoothed from Kyle's tongue into the air like a spark taunting gasoline. Flickering embers ignited an inferno between the two of them, tilting the Jew's vision of the darkened chamber. His body swayed, he clung to the doorframe, and he saw the way Eric smiled through the smoke and sulfur. Such a vicious smile it was, it made his body shiver in fiery anticipation. All this just from one word; one tiny phrase amongst thousands.

Unfortunately, his other half wasn't keen to play along with this routine.

" Like what? Screwin' with Kinny?" the Nazi calmly suggested, without a single hint of indication for the implications he alluded to. Kyle jolted at the notion of those two together, _alone,_ although he knew without a doubt that Cartman was merely messing with him. Still, the fires laced their fingers through the tangles of his bloodied hair, and he was at a lost of how to escape the bubbling flames of his core. Thus, he spoke in the same delirious timbre. Again, his words weaved their way through thick smoke to find the other's grin.

" More like killing people," he offered, one hand falling effortlessly from the stiff wood. Haunting music of a sexual den drifted through the sticky air as his fingertips struck the frozen realm of reality. His emeralds lazily glanced to see the red stained doorknob in his grasp, somehow caught out of the open air. Only as his fingers curled about the metal did Kyle realize he was no longer leaning against the doorframe; he had shifted so he was standing practically within that scorching room.

As he raised his eyes from their semi shock to the smile calling him closer to the edge, Kyle noticed that Cartman appeared to be enjoying the show. He didn't know where that thought came from, but that's the impression he was left with. Perhaps he knew that he was shifting from one foot to the other in a deluded attempt not to collapse to the wood below. In the back of his mind, the Jew knew he was. In that moment, however, all he heard was the invitation as it was written in curvy handwriting. Beckoned forward with teasing words, Kyle's hand slipped away from the stark cold metal of the outside world. He walked onto the dance floor as Eric gave a low chuckle.

" Isn't that the same thing?" he cooed, running a hand through his messy hair. Kyle felt his lips curling up into a coy smile he couldn't control. In a similar fashion, his unsteady feet took him a few steps into the torn apart room. Within his mind, he saw that hand being held out, that gorgeous man with his so familiar topaz eyes awaiting this elusive waltz.

" Kenny killed his family," Kyle snapped without reproach, pushing his hand back behind him. The door clattered shut in the same way he had opened it to begin with; only this time, it didn't make a sound either of them were aware of. All they heard was the silky voice echoing from the Jew's wet, pursed lips as he snatched up the invitation to tango with his favorite dance partner. Oh, and he did it with a lovely little insult dating way back, " You're just a sociopath,"

" Ouch. That _fuckin' _hurt," Cartman sneered as he gave Kyle that utterly perfected eye roll of his. He never denied the prelude to this opening dance as the fires overwhelmed the Jew's better judgment. He also said nothing as Kyle slipped silently onto the thrown about sheets. Kyle sat there, very so close to his sparring partner, folding his legs underneath him in the most surreal fashion he had ever known. Something about being there, on that bed, again, after all this time, made this whole scene seem like a well welcomed dream. Yet, the burning running through his bloodlines told him that this was all too real. He truly was there, staring up into sweetened honey eyes observing his every poised motion with hungry interest.

The way Eric's eyes moved over his lips drew the words forward.

" You've been avoiding me," he whispered, moving forth so that his eyes were peering through the blood to see the man before him. Eric wasn't playing games with him, though his answers were. Beyond them, however, Kyle felt his presence more than he saw him there. Something was teasing them, something was toying with them here, but they couldn't stop the conversation as it spiraled out of control. The music hit every note as their feet skidded over a floor painted slick and wet with the breath the redhead was panting inside. He heard a faint smile as he saw that laughter in that mocking comment.

" I wasn't aware I had to keep in touch," was the unfeeling response given as Eric turned his head to the side. The sugar of his orbs, of course, never left the face gazing up at him from another universe entirely. The look they gave each other was painful, just as the song was unmistakably difficult to dance to. Their waltz felt like it was falling into something new; perhaps something more than it was. For this, Kyle asked what he knew he should keep to himself.

" Where have you been all summer?"

" Shouldn't you know, you stalker?" the Nazi asked, once more pretending this wasn't some memory gone astray. He looked down directly at Kyle as two pools of emerald green sank into a color closer to onyx. Cold words were brewing fire inside the Jew, to which they both knew this dance was reaching a finale. Above all, seeing honey boiling into topaz without needing a push confirmed the fear Kyle had been avoiding ever since he saw all that enraged fire engorged upon the McCormick place.

Eric and Kyle were treading dangerously close to _those_ words.

And _that_ day.

And they weren't even trying to fake it anymore.

" I told you. I _work,"_ he stated as a matter of fact when he knew it wasn't. Eric let that one slide, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. His body language said he didn't know how serious this conversation really was. His eyes told a completely different story. This was why Kyle leaned ever closer to see their truthfulness amongst the lies they were saying for a cover they didn't even have.

" I've been here and there," he lied without even batting an eye. As if to show how fickle the answer was, he even waved his hand to the side, dismissing it as he said it. A smile was brought to Kyle's lips, embers overtaking his mouth as on this illusionary ballroom floor he stopped moving all together. This was no waltz and it certainly wasn't a tango. He didn't know what this was, but it was all a rage and all a flame, and everything was blinding in some untold measure of insanity. Yes, insanity, a white, cold sensation, not a feeling, that was sinking him into a pit of fires bursting with blue heat. His blood was seared off into a nothingness that felt weightless as his hand smoothed over the remaining bed sheets. His trembling fingers clenched, pushing his whitened knuckles into the soft, worn fabric of Eric's tight jeans. Certainly this dance was over, for the music was gone, and he was left staring so passionately up into topaz.

How his heart fluttered as he breathed out slowly.

" Well you haven't been here, so I guess you've just been there," the words curled from his mouth in a playfully sinful manner of speaking. The voice spoken was something possessed from his absolutely internal center; a clear division from the real world he was trapped within when not in that bedroom. Yet, even as he spoke in a voice that definitely didn't belong to him, he knew he meant every word said.

" Awww," Eric teased, finally moving to close the space between here and now and then and there. His gentle touch of warm fingers graced Kyle's cheek in a shockingly profound moment similar to when one wakes from a dream and realizes they're still alive. Then a sharp, loving pain jumped to the surface as his sweet Nazi pinched his cheek in that forever youthful way Eric was just made of. Alas, his words were of the same nature, even as they spoke to the lingering fire just engulfing their two bodies, " Did you miss me?"

Silence momentarily stole the scene from both the dreamlike world Kyle was captured by and the ballroom waiting on the next note which refused to come. Rather, everything ceased to exist as his emeralds moved to the side to see where Eric was stroking his cheek with his thumb. His touch was everything from mocking to loving to passionate to insane, yet managed to be unreal to the Jew. Slowly, moving through thickness pressing upon them in a slick heat, Kyle pressed his own hand to the smooth flesh of the other. He gave a gentle pull, moving those fingers away from his plump cheek, although not even he could say why. The moment afterwards, however, answered his unasked question, for Eric immediately slipped his fingers into the lacy curls of red. In an almost cautious way, he twirled one about his fingers, about his rings, about his genuine smile.

" How can I miss you if I don't even like you?" Kyle raised his eyes back up to the intoxicatingly tasty look he was being granted. He didn't notice the way he said the phrase, almost like a confession, for he was wholly ensnared by the gaze holding his green one. This question was discarded, as Eric wet his lips slowly in utter seduction.

" I missed you," he told his Jew, wrapping a finger about one of the soft curls colored in their fated shade. Music shattered silence into shards of glass crashing upon the floor. Kyle's hands were grabbed from his sides as he was spun into a dance made of fire, brimstone, and something feeling like sticky, wet blood. Tiles cracked about his heels as he was twirled from hither in a quick step stepping quickly over the lines of reality into delirium. He wasn't prepared, but then, he never quite was when Eric struck hard with his own form of promising pleasure.

" You're insane," Kyle spat out, for it was the first thought to come to mind through the jumbled fire. His body skirted through embers cascading from one side of hell to the realm of South Park's version as this waltz changed shape and this conversation morphed right along with it. This was not the coy sweetness he had been drawn into like a moth to fire. No, this was something dangerous, something he knew he had brought to the surface in this unreal surrealism playacting as their relationship.

The playfulness was over. This was Eric's version of seriousness.

Kyle couldn't have been more frightened if he had tried.

" That's hardly the point," he cooed in a velvet voice of such devious longing, it was quite literally overwhelming. A shudder of a breath escaped Kyle's lips. His body was falling prey to the victimization he was privy to. Unfortunately, when the words left his pointed tongue, he realized only too late that he wasn't fighting this personal execution.

" You didn't miss me. If you did, I'd know," he exclaimed, not needing to raise his voice above a fragile whisper. His response first came in a sly grin before his pet bopped him on the nose with one of his curls. Teasing, yes, but that smile sent quivers throughout the Jew just dying within to change topics. Even he knew that was impossible, of course, for Eric wasn't the type to allow it.

So why did Kyle _smile_ when Eric _teased_ him yet again?

" You'd like to think that,"

Those emeralds averted their attention in fear of what was being implied. They caught sight of a broken bedroom reflecting a mirror he didn't need to look through to see his own room. He saw the fractured pieces of a time spent alone in misery; the torn away posters, the thrown away clothing, the mess of the mind when it reaches reality. Finally, he saw his eyes drifting over sheets of a pleasing blood shade to find the tight jeans of his perfectly poised rival. There was a soft background song singing seduction when the piercing green found that wide grin awaiting him. Eric was enjoying a show meant only for him, tugging lightly on the same curl he always played with. When he twirled the red about his rings, when he pulled on it, Kyle felt his head tilting in that same direction. That was really all it took for this cascading waltz to cease in a trembling silence. Drawn as he always was, the Jew slipped forward on the sheets curling about his stained knuckles. He couldn't even say if they were dancing still, if that universal representation of their courting was real, surreal, unreal, for he was staring with wide eyes at the topaz he saw in his every midnight wondering. His tongue wet his lips in tasting the fire pooling around those sweet, sugary eyes pulling him from his seclusion.

Then he thought he saw the past screaming backwards through his mindset. The popping green of his eyes traced along the glitter smeared over Eric's full cheeks like a memory drowning in a moonless water grave. Glitter. Possessed by the ghosts trapped within the sparkly sins, he reached forth with one shaking hand. His thumb rubbed over the soft skin there as he wiped away a small trace of the world he couldn't name. In a similar fashion, he peered down at the sparkles lingering on his finger. They glinted in the faded lights, catching all innocence and flashing it around a merry go round fashion. Just the sight of it on his skin again caused the Jew to shiver in utter cold, his breath coming out shallow and hard.

" I remember glitter from middle school," Kyle faintly recalled, his eyes removing themselves from the glitter painted over his soul. Rather, he gazed up at his Eric as though confirming what he had just said. Frost was written in the smile he was granted as the Nazi rubbed away some of the remaining sins from his cheeks. Reaching through the past to the present, he smeared those tainted sparkles across Kyle's slightly plump cheeks.

" There you go," he breathed out in a voice too sweet for the Jew to handle. He wanted to break down in the tears of crystal cold returning from evenings lost in a glittery haze. Instead, he just tilted his head towards his darling as his cheek was pinched in that perfectly painful pleasure, " Glittery Jew,"

" Like a little jewel," Kyle said this as though he was speaking from another time; his voice removed from the present in an echoing quality. The words he meant weren't addressed. Quite the opposite, for the suggestion made next was one bordering on the edge of mindful clarity of what was really happening. Glitter stained or not, the redhead heard that offering in a lightning bolt colliding with a thunderclap sort of way. A tremendous storm was brewing in the honey of his honey's eyes, and it was all stated so cleanly in that one solitary word.

" Mine?"

Eric wasn't playing fair. Sadly, neither was Kyle.

" Perhaps,"

" I like those odds," the Nazi joyfully expressed, although even his voice showed that he recognized this new slow step dance they were engaged in. The invitations were received, rejected, accepted, and now delayed. A sort of game, they held hands and moved in a circle, without ever getting where they were going even as they never went quite backwards. In this mocking manner of sly shyness, Kyle pursed his lips, lowering his hands onto the sheets. His knuckles pushed into the weight of the other's thigh, being so close to him as he was.

" It's not odds," the Jew answered, avoiding the lasting offer entirely while addressing it all the same. Shifting his weight, he lowered the pulsating emerald of his glowing orbs to see the way Eric's fingers glistened with glitter, " There's only two answers,"

Fire consumed every thought throughout Kyle's white washed mind when Eric leaned close to where he was suddenly looking upwards. His chin was held in that glittery grasp, a gentle sort of hard, but all he could focus on was the churning embers gnawing at his sanity. His heart skipped beat after beat. He was wholly defenseless, staring so longingly at where his Nazi's mouth hovered just beyond the threshold of touching. One word said wrong and they would be embraced as they had been in a stark cold memory faded in sparkling lights. Throughout it all, he felt the warmth of sin pouring into his prickling flesh, taunting him as those tender lips did.

" You sure about that?" Eric asked cautiously with clear warning to his heated question. Even as tainted as his words were, they couldn't compare to what he did next. Those searing eyes of spilt sugar glanced, just glance for one fraction of a second, at Kyle's lips. The action was so quick, but, oh, how dangerously precise it was against the backdrop of burning flames; something like a needle thrust down to draw only one necessary blood drop to start to blood flow.

Certainly, it was more than enough to release the words held so tightly behind the Jew's lips.

" Yes and no. Which is it?" he choked out, stumbling over what he desired to say. He was so close, he could taste their festering scent in the back of his throat. Unfortunately, he found himself still refusing that admittance. Even as Eric, his Eric, peered down through the fires of heaven to see the desperation calling to him from two shattered emeralds.

Eric rubbed his thumb over Kyle's lips, smearing traces of biting glitter glass there. Slowly, carefully, the Jew wet his lips as that sweet gesture graced his quivering lips. Immediately, he tasted his Eric in a burst of emotions almost unknown as they jolted through his mind to his quaking body. The overwhelming flavor of chocolate made itself known over his tingling tongue, overshadowed quickly by something he didn't know. A bitter, cold, metallic something that faintly cried in it's familiarity. Yet, just as he thought he might know what it was, Eric smoothed his thumb over Kyle's bottom lip. Those quivering lips stained in glitter parted ever so slightly. A fiery, slick breath danced over his fingers, making Eric smile that one beautiful smile that had forever caused Kyle agony. Within, his heart ached against the taste of his pet, the sweet and the bitter and the mixture which seemed to create the meaning to their every meeting.

" Guess," Eric teased, as if the answer wasn't so clearly written in the bloodied air pressing down over their entangled souls. Looking up at those eyes, feeling that taste in his heart, Kyle literally heard something deep within him crack. The shattering echoed in his ears for hours to come, but it was heartbreakingly fresh in the moment he answered in his cast off way.

" No," he said it in a hollow voice meant to drive home the point he was painting. Regardless, he kissed Eric's thumb with his eyes closed. Then, swallowing the flavor so it disappeared into the reality of that summer day, he leaned back so the distance between them was real again. Cartman allowed his hand to fall away while he gave a wonderful roll of his honey eyes.

The ballroom faded away as the fires curled up inside the Jew.

" Stupid Jew,"

" Sociopathic Nazi,"

" Isn't that an oxymoron?" Cartman questioned, tilting his head in a somewhat disinterested way. His voice was back to being his usual playfully wicked thing, manifesting from his blackened core. Just hearing that accented timbre sent Kyle back into the day he was supposed to be at. The past disappeared into the dark night of quiet water, so that he was once more kneeling on Cartman's plush queenly bed in some hot day.

" Do you have any idea what an oxymoron is?" he snapped back, giving his rival a quizzical look. He was given a casual shrug of shoulder that was discarding this topic of choice, even as the Nazi did actually respond.

" I guess that means they both are," he sneered with a touch of heated intent to his sweet eyes. He might have been attempting to rile the Jew's hot blood into a another waltz; probably for the fun of the chase, if nothing else. Yet, Kyle, being brought back to the day, remembered just what he was doing there. He flicked his wrist in a mimicking way that made Cartman arch an eyebrow. The dismissal, though, was all the same.

" Nice try," Kyle admitted, lowering his hand to rest lightly on the other's knee. Shrugging both shoulders, he puckered his lips almost in a taunting fashion, " I came over to invite you over to Butters',"

" Yeah, right,"

" No, really. Do you wanna come over?" he said in a much more expressive voice. Although he couldn't say why, Kyle grasped one of Cartman's hands in both of his, squeezing tightly to show just how much he wanted him to come over. Whether or not the Nazi got the message, he didn't seem too keen on giving in when he was being denied in more than one way. Thus, he gave a fake, little smile, and pulled Kyle's fingers off his own.

" Uh. . . .Yeah, no," he said with a snippy undertone. Kyle frowned deeply at the rejection, but he didn't pressure the heavier boy into following him. Instead, he rubbed his forehead for the brewing headache leaking into his skull, before turning away from the lingering grin on his companion's face. In a way, he hoped his arm would be snatched up, and he would be asked to stay. Of course, he knew that wasn't about to happen. He could feel it in the chilled air about his head as his feet slipped onto the trashed floor.

" Your loss," Kyle cooed in a low timbre, getting to his feet with an idle sway of his curved hips. Flicking his red curls back, he patted the arch of his bottom, sending a coy glance back over his shoulder to where Cartman was smiling and eyeing his succulent body in a sweetly seductive way, " And I mean that,"

With that fiery denial, Kyle walked out of the safe haven of Cartman's bittersweet world. Every step was pierced by the sensational laughter of his pet, even after he pulled the door shut behind him. His body shook and shivered to the sound, stroking the embers inside to a boiling point. At the front door, hearing that desirable sound smoothing over his lips, the same as Eric's fingers, he nearly cried out, collapsed, and conceded to the will of the other. His feet almost turned around, although he managed to grip the doorknob and escape his personal prison with his sanity intact. Admittedly, it was just barely, but he stood on the front porch of that bleak hellhole, and he could breathe again.

Grasping his rushing heart, the Jew lightly stepped off the porch and drifted past the edge of the Cartman property. A lost feeling descended on him, pulsing mostly into a head splitting headache starting at his temples and working their way backwards. Holding his head, then, Kyle shivered in a freezing whisper of ice as his feet trudged past the darkened windows of his house, the pure white ones of the Marsh's, and up the block to the blocked out one's of the Stotch's. He couldn't say exactly what his thoughts were in that quick walk; if he had any worth recalling at all. Everything was jumbled together in one dreary haze tasting a lot like chocolate. Whether this chocolate was the same he tasted on Eric, he wasn't sure. It very well could have been the poisoned one from his past, coming up behind him for all the glitter stained memories he hadn't fully seen when in that red room. Rather than attempting to find a thought process, Kyle just banged his blanched knuckles on Butters' front door.

The noise sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

Or Kenny's laughter _that_ day.

Just as the water eased into his brain, Kyle heard the door creaking open. His wide emeralds stared at the innocent as Butters stared down at his cell phone. He was reading a text message, although the Jew wasn't sure how he knew that. Rubbing his forehead, he mouthed something he couldn't recall seconds later as those pale eyes jolted when they realized he had opened the door and was standing in front of the Jew. Butters gazed at him with a rather stunned look painted on his adorable, little child's face.

" Kyle?" Butters shyly asked, as though he had to verbally confirm who was standing in front of him. The touch of distance to his pale orbs seemed to peer through Kyle, into someone else who might also have been standing there. A smile of obscene proportions traced along Kyle's sparkly lips as he waved with one quivering hand.

" Hi, Butters,"

" Golly, I didn't think you'd come back," he announced without hesitation. Kyle continued to smile, feeling as though his head was ripping his eyes out the back of his mind. As his smile slightly widened disjointedly, the innocent eased to the side. His phone hung loosely in his fingertips, but his eyes gathered a certain look of fierce searching. He looked directly past the Jew, as if he could see someone else standing right there, smiling down at him in that bizarre fashion reflecting some splashing memory.

" Of course I would," Kyle airily stated, swaying from side to side. His legs threatened to give way, although it was his head he was most concerned with. He rubbed his forehead again, with got Butters eyes to snap back in his direction. There was a lingering sense of dread amongst those pale gems, " I don't break my promises,"

" . . .'Kay. Come on in," Butters muttered, holding the door open wide enough to let the other inside. He did so with some minute caution, biting his lower lip in reluctance. Kyle stepped inside, his body shaking violently from a cold that appeared to be trailing after him. The innocent shivered as he walked by, again casting a forlorn look outside and continuing to hold the door open.

" Do you have something to drink?" Kyle vaguely asked, holding his hand out and grasping the air as if to grab someone's wrist. He turned towards the child as he said it, jerking the past backwards into the home. Long tangles of blond hair slipped down in front of horrified eyes beginning to tear up. A shudder went up the slender legs of the sweet boy as he chewed on his lower lip, nodding his head like he wished he didn't have to, " Good, because my head's killing me,"

Kyle wiped the glitter from his lips as his tongue slipped up his fingers to taste it. Metal twisted itself around the linger texture of flesh burning inside a cathedral cast away from God's good graces. Up it went like the McCormick place, forever avoiding the light and thus forever avoiding the problem. This, Kyle swallowed hard as his eyes blanked into a hue somewhere closer to hell than emerald. As he did, as his words fell in glass shards about the freezing cold echoing from the pieces of glitter, Butters gave a silent, slow nod. His eyes cut away entirely from the present, hearing the words as if they were something more perverse than they were. Swallowing hard as Kyle swallowed the poison, he turned to where his fingers were gripping the wood of his door.

Butters heard those words from a distant memory before he pushed the door shut on the shadow standing on his doorstep, laughing hysterically at a day quickly coming to the surface that summer in South Park.


	14. Candy Store

Within the confines of summer heat and isolation, time was something of a whispering retreat from reality. In South Park, this was particularly true. There was no real measure of time when one was merely killing it for the sake of doing so. For Kyle, he knew he was doing just that as he pulled on the leather boots he usually only wore on freezing cold days in mid winter. That day, sometime in June, he laced them up out of the desire for this summer to be completely over. He had been wilting away time for the past five or so days and the idea of doing so had always depressed him. Yet, he had found himself sitting on Butters bed every morning around eleven and staying there until eleven again day in and day out. The heat outside made it next to impossible for them to leave and do something. Walking was a favorite pastime of theirs, but that wasn't to be had. Thus, when Kyle rang the doorbell, they strode up to the pale green and blues of the innocent's bedroom to wait for the clock to strike eleven again. Then, Kyle would pull on his shoes and head out to the darkness of his own house.

There was no reason for this course of action. In all honesty, the same avoidance could be found within his own bedroom, locked away in his tower with his thick bound books. Instead, Kyle had abandoned Pride and Prejudice to lay on Butters bed. He really hadn't done much of anything else. Butters had attempted to hold conversation after conversation with the Jew, although his words weren't heard and therefore weren't answered. In due time, the innocent had simply gone about working on whatever he was working on when Kyle slept on his bed. Time would disappear, the clock hands would shift, and they would eat lunch down in a frigid kitchen. They ate soup, and nothing else, before going back upstairs to repeat the morning late into the evening. When evening finally came, Butters woke Kyle from his slumber, sent him on home, and the Jew quietly walked up the stairs to his bedroom where he resumed his dreamland adventures.

Time had vanished as such, leaving him getting dressed that morning in winter clothing while it was still mid summer. He tightened the boots about his ankles, then slipped out of his house without a sound. For the first time in five days, he didn't turn and head towards Butters' house. In the back of his mind, he knew he ought to actually see Stan, whom had called him the other day with a true accusation of avoidance. Still, Kyle gripped his shirt in agony of venturing up to the Marsh's house, seeing how he couldn't think about Kenny without getting a headache. No, he decidedly didn't go to see his closest friend. Rather, he started down the street towards the town just a little ways away.

The actual town of South Park was a tiny stain on the mountain side. There were neglected stores with cracked paint, weathered roofs, and unconcerned people inside. The roads with coated in a layer of grim, with bad sidewalks, and litter all around trashcans that badly needed to be changed. Cars bumped down forgotten roads, filling the scorching air with faint sounds of various kinds of music. There wasn't anything special about the collection of wishy-washy structures and apathetic citizens outside of the fact that everything was wishy-washy and everyone was apathetic. This was the little blemish on an otherwise nice looking mountain side that Kyle walked to, his arms folded behind his messy curls. He wasn't surprised to see the bustling town off to a nice start, seeing how it was already nearing ten in the morning. He was mutely surprised to see a couple of the insiders mulling around the coffee shop, though, as it was only ten. Yet, he only gave half a glance at the group of boys downing coffee and holding aching heads in their wrecked party clothes.

His walk ended in front of the candy store. Signs were plastered in the front windows announcing a big sale that Butters had told him all about three days earlier. Although a certain activist had sternly warned him about going, he stood outside the place anyways. He had intended to go since he had heard about it; even if the snugness of his jeans told him he really ought to reconsider his decision. Either way, he had set his alarm for nine, so he could shower and be out the door before his Nazi rival even woke up. The last thing he wanted was to run into Eric Cartman, whom he had been steadily avoiding as well. He knew better than most that Cartman didn't wake up before noon during summer days. Being ten in the morning, he gave a sly smile, knowing that he would definitely not run into that fat annoyance so long as it was early enough. And it certainly was.

Pushing open the glass door, Kyle swept inside the sugary smelling shop on the edge of South Park's main street. For one second, he vaguely recalled a day several years removed when he had won a shopping spree that ended in an ashen milkshake and a ladder up to heaven. Smiling at the drifting memory, he glanced to the side as if he might catch a glimpse of himself standing there in line with his younger friends, when they realized Kenny had died with their ticket. He couldn't help but laugh at the recollection as he walked past the few other people wandering around. Giving the people a quick couple of glances, he determined he didn't know anyone there, so he made a beeline through the chocolate works of delicious splendor to his absolute favorite piece. He plucked up one of those slabs of expensive, succulent selections just as a familiar voice slipped over his spine.

" Howdy, Kyle,"

The Jew couldn't help but cringe as Butters' sweet tone smoothed down his back in that wholly innocent way. Gritting his teeth, he turned toward the beaming boy and faked his own, very wide smile. In response, Butters waved, coming to a stop directly in front of Kyle, thus blocking his only exit from the candy store. Butters was dressed in a blood red shirt that could only belong to one person in all of South Park, considering it's size and the way it hung off the tiny frame of the blond boy. Catching sight of that shirt, Kyle entirely forgot to greet his friend. Rather, he jabbed a finger at the red thing with his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in their accusation.

" Is that. . .is that. . .Cartman's shirt?" he demanded, his tone quickly shifting gears from unsure to mildly angry. Butters appeared caught off guard by that abrupt statement, because he stuttered on his second greeting. His eyes gained this bewildered touch, as his head tilted to one side, all of which was ignored by the narrowing shards of green eyeing him.

" Huh?"

" That _has _to be Cartman's shirt," Kyle snapped, fighting the urge to grab up the corner and rip the thing right over the blonde's head. Finally catching the words hissed at him, two pale eyes jumped down to the shirt practically hanging off his slender limbs. A soft frown formed on his face as his rubbed his knuckles together in that classic sign of discomfort.

" Oh, yeah. I borrowed it," he mumbled, barely speaking over the level of a breath. He never addressed why he had needed to borrow a shirt scented with a clean, clear cut allure of death. Instead, he swallowed hard, dry, and wet his lips in dual motions, " I. . .uh. . .spent the night,"

" I thought he spent the night at your place," the Jew barked, taking a half step closer to the light eyes giving him a look begging for him to back off. This territory wasn't a topic up for discussion, even if neither was giving an inch. Butters gave a purposeful stare down at his dirty shoes, stained with glitter and mud. This was no innocent gaze of a mindful child. No, this was a hurt, teeth grinding glare of a misplaced misfit wishing to shove back, but unwilling to strike at a boy wearing blood on his knuckles. Butters didn't dare push back when Kyle Broflovski, of all people, pushed for answers, " Isn't that why I had to leave?"

" Well, shucks. . . we went out. . fer a bit," there was nothing in that voice to command authority. Still, when Butters uttered the words 'went out' there was a hint of vile intentions demanding a level of respect. Kyle retreated from the questioning nature, if only for a desire to remain naive of the actual going ons between Butters and Cartman. Threats would have drawn out the answer he was looking for, but at that moment, he wasn't sure if what he was looking for was what he wanted to see.

Or maybe it was because he knew he _needed_ to see it that he didn't want to.

" Oh. Why didn't you call me? I would've gone back to your place," Kyle calmly asserted, waving his free hand to the side. He didn't sound as furious as the fires lurking in his blood felt. He licked his lips, tasting his urge to slam the chocolate slab into Butters' head to punish him for sins he hadn't committed yet. Of course, he denied himself the pleasure, forcing the flames down to just clenching his fingers into a fist as Butters raised up his faded eyes. The answer to his question was something like a curse word spoken for the first time in front of a parent; utterly loud and utterly unforgivable.

" It was late,"

" Oh. I see," Kyle spat out softly, allowing the words to sear his tongue before saying them. Butters ran a shaking hand through his hair. Doing so drew the redhead's attention to the usual low placed pony; something he hadn't noticed for the past few days. Seeing that pony coupled with the blood red of the shirt caused Kyle's teeth to grit painfully.

Before him, the innocent knocked his knuckles together, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. His sneakers had a new hole in the corner, wear faded pink socks could been seen, along with the tears in them. Watching those bare legs move revealed the edge of short shorts coated in mud and something sparkly; something fine grade and pitch white. Then, as those quivering fingers gripped the edge of the shirt hiding his fragile side, a deep bruise was uncovered. It was a piercing black mark on his inner thigh. The worse part about it, though were the touches of glitter from the fist that had created such a deviously placed mark defacing the innocent's appeal. Spying that static wound, Kyle tasted a cold chill like the rim of a glass dipped in salt and lime. He gagged as Butters decided enough was enough and shifted topics the way only he could.

" Come for the sale? Well, shucks, course ya did," he gave a tiny, casual laugh, motioning with his hands at the store materializing around them. His voice couldn't have been more real, more honest, if they had been talking like this from the very start. Kyle, however, was no where near as good at switching gears from the vast depths of the abyss to the startlingly unaware realm of South Park's main street. His eyes widened as he took in the bruise, the size of it, and everything the innocent child had said without saying. For all his descending fear, Butters continued to perform the tight rope walk he had become so gifted at, moving from fire to fun effortlessly, " Whatcha gettin'?"

" Chocolate. Is Cartman here?" he rushed to say, gripping his chocolate closer and tighter. His emeralds jumped away from that bruise to the people walking around them. What he saw, though, was anything but the store he was standing in. Burning flames were all he saw as he moved around, searching for the honey eyes he so desperately wanted to avoid.

" Heck yeah. He's over there," the blonde confirmed, pointing off at a different aisle as if he could see through the wood to where Cartman was. Kyle felt his heart skip a beat, embers tearing through his mind. A hot breath escaped his lips as Butters happily grinned up at him in what could be mistaken for a mocking coyness, " Want me ta get 'im?"

" No. I want you to pretend I was never here while I leave," the Jew snapped with tremendous command to his every word. Knowing that the Nazi was literally just around the corner left quite a bad taste in his mouth. He didn't need to hear that voice or see that man so long as he was content on avoiding him. All that frustration cemented itself into his furious look cast upon the confused child standing in his way.

" Why would I do that?"

" You value your legs," Kyle threatened in a voice possessed by the fires slipping themselves onto his flesh. Those pale eyes widened in unadulterated fright at the possibility of having brought to life the vicious version of the Jew's persona. Those tiny knees quaked as he twisted his fingers up in the shirt which had started everything in one long streak of blood. Just seeing those unworthy hands tangled in _that_ shirt made the fire crawl into Kyle's mouth. Curses spiraled into his mind as the heat nearly drove him into a fit of screaming the likes of which Butters would surely not survive.

" Gosh, Kyle. . ." the innocent whispered slowly, taking in the way Kyle ground his teeth and his knuckles blanched. For everything he gave to him in the way of sheer hatred, Butters was one of the few people who couldn't be truly phased. He merely glanced away, chewing on his lower lip in a hesitant manner. Overcoming his reservations, he looked back and gave a heartfelt smile that proved just what being Cartman's friend made him capable of facing, " I was hopin' you'd come over,"

" Why?" he bluntly demanded, giving the blonde a sharp look. Butters didn't falter even once in the face of such demeaning phrases. Instead, he perked up at the question, pointing mindlessly in the vague direction of his homestead.

" I got these new horror movies-"

" Can't," the Jew cut in before another word could be happily said. This time, though, there was enough heat to the tone that it managed to scorch the previous undeterred boy. Butters appeared to catch the bite in his voice, for he simply nodded shyly and took a ginger step to the side. Without saying anything in the way of goodbye, Kyle jerked around that disheartened face with it's big, puppy pools of blue. He didn't see the broken desperation in his supposed friend. He only saw the exit coming up quickly, allowing him to duck out and run before being caught.

Just as he reached forth, his shirt was snatched out of the air and he was tugged backwards to the sound of a velvety voice coated in a fiery accent making it's toxic way down his spine.

" Not gettin' anything?" Cartman cooed, looking down at his prey. Immediately, Kyle felt his blood pool throughout his fingers, forming fists that even he knew were useless then. The punch he might have thrown would have been fierce enough to free him from those particular clutches, especially if his rival wasn't up for a knock out-drag out kind of fight in the early am. Unfortunately, Kyle was pulled backwards, nearly clear off his feet, so that his back was pressed deeply into the girth of the other's stomach. The sudden warmth and softness left the Jew gritting his teeth, fighting a cascade of lightning white thoughts making less sense then his desire to stay just where he was held.

Rather than struggle to get free, a hopeless venture in that isolated moment, Kyle slumped down so that his shoulders were rested on the arch to his foe's belly. His shirt was held at his side, pulled there by fingers glistening in glitter, gold, and diamonds. For a second, his emeralds took in the glory of ill gotten gains. A trickle of fire laced itself over his wet tongue, spiraling down into the depths of his permanently engulfed soul. He dared himself to spit out the lengthy swears directed to the rings, to the glitter, to the silky smooth flesh on his memories. Biting his lower lip, though, he found the only image truly coming to mind that of the innocent standing there, dressed in that red shirt. An emotion almost wholly digested in venom and bile consumed the Jew to the effect of making him wish to cover his mouth to avoid getting sick all over Cartman's beautiful leather boots.

" Godammit. I was hoping I wouldn't see you today," was all he could managed to choke out. Terrible shivers danced over his knees, begging to give way so as to be caught up even more so than he was. He fought the urge by turning his head to face the floor, where all he had to see was the edge of a boot coated in glitter and mud.

" Why?"

" I don't really like seeing you, really," Kyle muttered in quick tones, squeezing his eyes shut in order to say that. The echo of uncertainty pained him to tears, which welded up in burning bliss. He longed to burst out in those tears, after having spent days in sleeping isolation in the gleam of glitter again. Yet, he did no such thing. He gathered the bursts of electric fire inside and used it to brew a vicious timbre for his conviction, " That's really it. Really,"

" Really? Ya sure?" the Nazi teased playfully, twisting the edge of the shirt around his knuckles. An imprint of his thick ring was the first thing Kyle took sight of as his orbs slowly eased open. Instantly, embers smoldered into full out infernos just from that naive gesture from yesteryear. The liquid metal seared his veins as he ripped his head upwards to cast frozen, hard, fractured eyes up at the pleasant grin admiring the way the rage overflowed his every sensation. Honestly, Cartman was enjoying this, and he knew it.

" Let go of my shirt, Cartman," he hissed, sharpening that name into a pointed statement of real hatred. For all his cold fire, for every ounce of frustrated fury, he wasn't given an inch of room to spread his malicious fingertips. Cartman was quite immune to his charms, releasing his shirt only to grab hold of one curl of bloodied red. This prize, he twirled the same manner about his shimmering rings so that the jewels were hidden in red. Smiling coyly, he tugged on the curl with enough force to tilt the glowering Jew's head to one side.

There was no prelude today.

Just a lovely invitation wrapped with a topaz bow topped with glitter.

" Put on a few?"

The ground about their feet shattered into thousands of pieces bursting into shards of frozen flame. Shades of every known red blurred the Jew's emeralds before his silk enveloped hands were grasped by the white gloves of the man forever taunting him. Clicking echoed in a silence pulsating with music yet unsung, words yet undone, and the heat of all of it jolted through every wavering step of a waltz starting in heaven and ending somewhere in hell. White and black squares of a dancehall cracked amongst the heat and the pressure, sending enormous cries into the chorus of the music of their hearts. Having averted himself from this dance for so long, having swallowed it for too long, Kyle felt his feet slip along the melting marble. Before his eyes swam gems of a man with a wicked smile. For his every thought, he was battered by a tantalizing note which refused to play.

For this, he gritted his teeth in agonizing fury. His body twisted around, ripping away from the smothering warming comfort of Eric's body. There was a fraction of time where their eyes were locked together in sweeping graces, honey sugar meeting emerald gems, just as they were in their wonderful waltz. Pulling back one hand, his free hand, the Jew had but a breath to decide to smack that wholly impressed face or catch that glistening hand. In reality, though, they could do this dance in only one form, so he caught the punch half way. His palm and fingers sank into Eric's lovely belly with pressure enough to cause the other boy to take half a step back. Yet, there wasn't enough vicious attack to force him truly away nor any pain.

That was reserved for the bitter exclaim Kyle allowed to tear from his mouth at the exact volume he desire to scream.

" The _hell I have!_" he cried out, his voice smashing into the Nazi with unmistakable strength. The determination behind every cutting thrust would make most throw their hands up in surrender rather than face off with that Jew's well known rage. All his Eric did was give a hearty laugh, something immeasurably cold of him, before he pinched that plump cheek in his spiteful, little way. The pain lingered as the dance cut into more of a tango, pushing them closer together and ever closer to the building demise of sanity.

" You can't hide it from me," the Nazi assured him with a tiny nod of his head. The comment sent a quivering shudder throughout the Jew's curvy frame, curling his toes and igniting his passionate inside. The core of his molten soul unfurled even more, extending smoky hazes throughout all five senses. For a brief blink of time, the world was dulled behind a black out of emotion. Then, bursting like a supernova, Eric was bathed in white purity; a fire so hot, it burned out it's own color.

" There's nothing to hide," he whispered in a heated voice spinning sin into the air hanging lightly around their heads. Kyle felt his fingers smoothing up that gorgeous shirt, then sliding back to the stretched out hemline. He gripped this with light anguish for the thought of having to release it. This new fire, this white hot thing, was erasing his pattern of thought. He was left shivering on the dance floor, clutching hands continually tugging in one or another direction. All he wanted, though, was to look up and end this affair in the proper way. His voice spoke worlds to this effect as he trembled inside and out, " I haven't gained any weight,"

" I can tell," Eric smiled at the lie Kyle presented to him, easing his gentle touch over his Jew's full cheeks. He cupped his soft chin, moving his head so as to peer sugar down into the drowning orbs swimming throughout blood. The look he gave may have been considerate of the miserable situation of heat burning out, but his words were designed merely to relight the flame, " Your cheeks are fatter,"

" They are not. You're just being a bitch," Kyle snapped, removing his face from the other's grasp. His words fell hollow on the floor, breaking into glass bubbles that only made the dance a sweeping sensation as Eric somehow managed to jeer his way into the open fires.

" Ouch," he joked, making as though he had been stabbed in the heart by one shard. The sarcasm to his tone was a perfected dream; a thing to be envied later, in the quiet of one's bedroom. As for right in the moment, it did it's trick like a prick to the skin, pulling forth blood drop by drop until there was a steady stream. Likewise, Kyle first tore his body free, stepping nearly a full foot backwards. Yet, fighting with himself as the flames twisted up his arm without his control, he yanked his hand away from his side. He jabbed his finger deep and hard into Eric's middle, unable to stop himself from cracking under the burning pressure of that beautiful sarcasm. If only he knew how to avoid the second act, he could have curled up in himself, but instead, he was twirling around the ruined squares for another waltz; listening not to music, but laughter so coy, it was a sin all it's own.

" You wanna talk about weight gain, we should be talkin' about you, _fat boy!_" Kyle barked back, his eyes engorged with the fires within. The immense pleasure of hissing something so venomous was coupled when his pet gritted his teeth in a mimicking fashion. He'd struck a cord and it sounded so wonderful as he grabbed the lead of this whirlwind of a waltz moving from one level of death to another all together. His hand was shoved away from the Nazi's vast middle in a true victory that only made the blood rush as his heart skipped a beat in excitement.

" Oh, whatevah,"

" You always gain so much weight during the summer," he continued down this dangerous path, dancing all the way with his head thrown back in wild abandon. Nothing felt so rich as that moment when honey boiled into caramel darkness just a touch away from utter bleak removal. They were tiptoeing around the pits of flickering embers, enjoying the scorching heat, and each attempting to let go to see their partner fall to their death. Kyle couldn't help but smile at the idea, though, his smile was detached from the moment if it was anything.

" I'm not the only one," was the surprisingly calm answer he got for all his sneering ridicule. Kyle wasn't deterred in his devastating insulting assault. This feeling of smoking delusion was churning the coals into bubbling metal searching for a mold to weld into. Grinning like a madman then, he swayed from side to side, pointing up at that curiously concerned face weakly smiling back in bewilderment.

" Nobody gains quite as much as you,"

" You'd like to think that, Kahl," Eric playfully sighed out, looking like he wanted to say something else entirely. Kyle puckered his lips, hovering closer to the edge than ever before. Intoxication fell gracefully over his gentle curves as his body moved in disjointed mannerisms reflecting the spiraling haze of his mindset.

" I have to go," he sweetly announced, folding the arm holding the chocolate behind his back. The other hand, he used to teasingly pat his darling's belly with one purely enjoyable grin. He was rewarded by a genuine smile on Eric's part, while the Nazi idly played with one of the curls of ruby, " I have more important things to do than talk to you,"

" Riiight," the sweetheart said as he ran a finger down Kyle's arm. Every inch touched ignited into velvet flames, aching for more painful persuasions. The Jew quivered in that man's grip, letting him jerk his protective hand away from his backside. Clicking his tongue and shaking his head in disapproval, the Nazi tore open the packaging of the slab of luscious chocolate. Knowing only too well that this was his prey's absolute favorite, he cracked a piece off the corner. Licking his lips in wet seductive just dripping with delicious heat, he offered this piece to his Jew by putting it to the pursed lips of the redhead. Kyle bit it in half with a loud snap, which earned him a soft, enchanting laugh. Then, motioning with the slab, Eric ate the other half of the piece, stopping to run his tongue over the teeth marks having already pierced it, " Somethin' tells me I know what you're gonna be doin',"

" Very funny,"

" Here. Take it," the Nazi said with emphasis on his honesty in the offering. He handed over the stolen chocolate bar to his jewel of a Jew. Although normally he would have smacked it to the ground, Kyle felt his hands encircling the thing. Gazing up through his curls, he chewed on the broken apart corner. The heat of the moment was enthralling him into a slow dance of small circles that only made his head spin faster and faster still. Those glittering honey orbs softened like he was aware of this change as Eric petted Kyle's head a little, " Consider it a consolation prize,"

" Consolation for what?"

" What? You don't remember that?" there was real surprise to the question; enough that it even showed within his pretty eyes. Yet, lost in the spinning motion of a dance coming to a close, Kyle couldn't recall anything outside of the last few minutes. His head eased from side to side. A look of confusion pooled over his features.

" Remember what?" he mumbled under his breath, taking the time to flick his hair back slightly before he said anything at all. The gesture was meant to look like consideration, perhaps searching his mind for the missing memory, when he really didn't try too hard. He focused only on the melting flavor of chocolate on his tongue and the sweet smile on the mouth of his greatest rival.

Eric didn't answer. He knew Kyle too well for that. In fact, he merely patted the Jew's fluffy curls, lingering to stroke his thumb over the edge of the other's ear in an almost loving touch. Just that fragment of an emotion was enough to make Kyle's knees buckle, sending him mentally to his knees. Outside, he just swallowed in a suddenly tight, dry throat. Over his head, Cartman dismissed him with a casual wave of his hand, telling him without words that he could run along now. This Nazi monster was through with him and he knew this better than he knew just about anything. The refusal to look at him, to turn away in this rejection, was more than the little redhead could handle. Fire consumed his trembling blood, fighting amongst his dreary thoughts for words that could be used as a new attack. He couldn't handle being tossed aside so easily after such a dance had left him shaken and misplaced. Nothing about this desire made sense, but he really didn't care.

Before he could start to finish his own war, he was interrupted all over again. Butters drifted over, bringing the shop back into the forefront of the fickle realism Kyle was living in that summer. The innocent appeared to have been under the impression that the two of them had vanished, run off together to do something private. Having realized they were still there, though, he had returned to Cartman's side. He was talking endlessly about something that didn't mean anything to anyone; not even him. The noise coming from his mouth made Kyle grit his teeth in frustration. Nevertheless, his head nodded in greeting when Butters' bright eyes looked in his direction.

" What'd you want, Buttahs?" Cartman drawled out, casting a vicious glance down at the energetic creature forever standing in his shadow. This was a look which was promptly ignored.

" Nothin'. Jus' wanted to talk," the blond stated, shrugging his shoulders like he wasn't sure. Whether he wasn't sure on the answer or the idea, that remained to be seen. Whatever the reason, he shrugged and he gave the two of them a nervous smile, seeming to sense, for the first time, the tension brewing amongst them.

" Well, don't. You're no good at it," the Nazi said bluntly, causing the child to frown quite dramatically. Butters didn't get a chance to defend himself in the slightest. The next second, Cartman shoved a hand into the blond's face and pushed his head to the side with an impressive jerk. Butter's entire body shifted in reaction, a whimper jumping into the air as he tried to pull his friend's hand away in protest.

" Don't be mean to Butters," Kyle snapped, shooting the heavier boy a vile stare meant to curl flesh. The look was returned with a smirk, followed by Cartman smacking Butters in the back of the skull. Flames roared to life, spiking the Jew's words with a liquor touch igniting what he hoped was another screaming match, " He didn't do anything to do!"

" Stay outta this, Jew," was the calm, uninterested retort given. A nasty taste cascaded into Kyle's mouth from the pit of his breaking heart. The skin of his body ached in a trembling, quivering fire screeching within his head to be released. For all this, for all this withheld pressure, he tasted the sickness in repulsion to his enjoyment of it. Yet, he knew for every conflicting design inside, for every ember gracing his goodness, he knew nothing was coming from this. The dance was over and his sugary sweet was grinning at him from the gallows, refusing to extend his hand.

" _Fuck _you, Cartman," Kyle breathed out, addressing the refusal instead of the comment. His intention was wholly known, as shown through the way the other laughed in a good natured manner. That only made the Jew grind his teeth in a murderous submission into restraint.

" Golly, guys, don't fight," Butters interjected, attempting to move between them. The appeal to his shining eyes spoke volumes to what he could feel and taste from the teasing air spinning white and red throughout their universe. One step away from Eric, however, and his bloodied shirt was snatched up. He was quickly jerked back into line as his master gave a playful wink over at the shimmering Jew.

" Stay outta this, Butters," Kyle whispered, his grip tightening enough to snap the slab of chocolate in half. His knuckles blanched as he drew in a breath which tasted like metal blood. Before him, his Eric just gave a beautifully haughty laugh as he shoved Butters' head down with a fitful whine. The innocent child fought to get free, all in vain, just before the white string snapped and all the pieces fell into place.

The chocolate crashed into the ground as Kyle pulled one balled up fist back behind his head. Two pale blue eyes glistened in misplaced fear while two glittering honey ones gleamed in true delight. A burning, scorching, unimaginable inferno tore apart Kyle's sanity, screaming throughout his every pulsing inch. His arm clenched in his desperation not to give in. Teeth bared, muscles shaking in refusal, he let out a scream meaning nothing at all. Yet, he couldn't find the strength to slam his fist into that grinning face taunting him. Instead, he felt something cracking as the fire swallowed itself whole. Smoke filtered about his head, his hand dropping down to his side. The other hand, though, jumped up and grabbed up Eric's wrist. A second was preserved, where he held the smooth skin as his, before he ripped the Nazi's hand away from Butters' head. Nothing else, though, he could bring himself to do as he fought the grey haze numbing his freezing body to the desires swimming under the surface.

" Well," Eric cooed out in his tasty, fake, little voice. Kyle's emeralds widened at the sound of such a hurtful memory from their past. The brunette didn't acknowledge him other than to make a childish face as he caught Butters by the upper arm. Then, squeezing the child close to him, he gave the Jew a mocking wave of farewell, " Have fun stuffin' yourself,"

" Shut the _fuck up! I am not gonna do that!_" the Jew screamed out as loud as he could, snatching up part of the chocolate bar. He threw it at the two monsters before him, blood letting him blind himself to who he actually threw it at. Butters let out a shrill yelp before Kyle jerked away from them and their hollow words. He stormed out of the store in a brewing rage. The last thing he heard then was Butters gentle voice looking up at cold, blackened orbs and whispering ''aw. hamburgers, Eric, why'd ya go an' say that?'. A twisted response was contrived from words unbefitting a man born with sweet eyes, but it was lost to Kyle as he slammed the shop's door shut behind him.

The world around him flickered in photographic images from then and yesteryear. Words pounded into his skull, as his hands snatched up his curls. He wanted to rip them out, to cut them away, to get rid of everything from that day five years ago. Hearing those words again, hearing it all again, from Eric's mouth, was like poison in the sick. His mouth moved, forming the same words, and he almost vomited from the texture of them against his lips after all this time. How could he have said that? How could he have said that after everything that had happened? One month was spent waiting in the depths of a burning hell, thinking and scheming in ten layers of green frosting. The next weeks dotted along the veins in a mapping sensation, the touch frighteningly real against everything that wasn't. Then, one day in July, he was standing there, thinking the one thing he would never say, and instead, he had said _THAT_.

_ Have fun stuffing yourself_.

Kyle's hands covered his mouth as he shoved open the door to a frozen fortress. Sick dripped over his fingers, but not because of those words. He saw Eric's perfectly shaped eyes, staring at him in bleak horror of what had come next. For that, for what his mind couldn't even begin to piece together, the Jew felt his knees connecting with the floor. He found one hand on the stairs, the other on his tight shirt, and the sickness just oozed from his coughing throat. He emptied his stomach on his mother's favorite throw rug in front of the stairs to his house. He didn't remember getting home. He didn't remember anything except how Eric had held his hair back and he had vomited in the Cartman's backyard the day Eric turned ten. They hadn't spoken for months, not since Kyle had ruined their lives with his ten tiered birthday cake, but that day, they spoke. They spoke and they talked about the words they shouldn't have said and the kiss that shouldn't of happened and the monster sleeping under Kyle's bedroom floor and then the sick had whelmed up. He had vomited in Liane's roses as Eric, his sweet, darling Eric, had held his hair back.

They had cried together after that, hiding in the shed where the monsters of the night couldn't get them.

Kneeling on the floor, Kyle coughed as the last of the sick splattered on the floor. His body shook in agony from something he couldn't even comprehend. For a fractured second, he saw only Eric's hand wiping away his tears back when they were children. The next, he couldn't believe he had said such a thing to the only boy who had ever been there for him when it actually mattered. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he sat back, listening to the still quiet of the house. Deep seeded regret punctured into his core, sinking into the festering wounds bubbling below the scorching heat of his center. His tenth birthday party had been the greatest mistake of his life, but he couldn't deny that Eric's tenth had been the second.

Just as he thought that, he heard a light thump above his head. Ice descended into his veins, breaking his fire into bloody, screaming pieces dying on the floor. The terror seeping into his body stretched to his emeralds as his head slowly raised. His eyes traveled up the stairs littered with broken glass and leather boots with purple laces. A striped shirt was hanging over the edge of the railing near the top. He tried his hardest to stare at it rather than looking up into the pitch black darkness of the second floor. Unfortunately, he saw that tiny foot slip down one more step and he found he could look nowhere else. Every muscle in his body tensed as two devoid onyx's turned up from two blood stained feet to where Kyle was kneeling in utter, unadulterated _fear_.

Ike sat on the uppermost step, his pale flesh tainted by bruises in the shape of handprints from his bare legs to his slender throat. Blood dripped from between his legs, from where he was sitting, to his feet. Peering down from the frozen darkness, he licked a steady line up the side of a popsicle stick. Wetting his lips, he flicked the wet thing down at his older brother, leaning back so the trail of the bruises could be seen at his bare inner thighs.

When he spoke, his voice was sickness brought to life.

" _Wanna go out for ice cream?_"

Kyle screamed as two hands wrapped around Ike's neck.

* * *

Kyle's footsteps sounded heavy as he took a weak step off the porch to his darkened house. His hand slid over the railing before falling limply at his side. Two wide emeralds focused only on one direction, to which he headed with hollow footprints making no sound outside of his own mind. Before his tearstained face, he saw the Cartman house cutting a jagged slice through the fading lights of the afternoon. Every light inside was off and the van was missing from the driveway. He barely noticed as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, stepping up the door. From his pocket, he pulled his wallet. The weight of it nearly made him drop it. Instead, swallowing a wet, dry noise, he pulled out the silver key tucked in the corner. He pushed it into the front door, unlocked his haven, and stepped inside the icy realm of salvation.

The wallet dropped from his hand as the key clinked on the floorboards. Kyle never looked back at them. He just walked up the steps, blinking as they swayed from side to side in rapid fashion. Every other thought was numbed down into nonexistence behind the thought of getting inside the red world that could burn up all his screeching pain. Blood pulsed in his pounding skull, but he ignored it as his hand pushed into the Nazi symbol carved in the wood. The door creaked open, causing Eric to jerk his head up from where he was reading a German novel. The Nazi said something, petting Mr. Kitty's head, as Kyle silently made his way to the plush bed. Body rocking in the terror creeping into his veins underneath the ice, he sat down so his back was facing the other.

Kyle gripped the sheets so the fabric twisted up in his palms. His emeralds stared only at the ground, where little crystals dropped and splashed on the blurred floorboards. He could feel Eric's eyes glancing him up and down, seeing all that was unsaid. Mr. Kitty was placed down, so that he mewed and stretched out his lanky body. Eric ignored him entirely, reaching through the ice to gently stroke a curl. The sudden touch caused Kyle to flinch, his hand lightly pushing his loving touch away. No jest was made, no ploy was attempted. Honey eyes took in the way the Jew clenched his teeth and groped at the sheets. Kyle's hands found not the sheets, but Mr. Kitty. This cat, he grabbed up, holding him in his arms so he might bury his face in the fur. The cat mewed and started to purr, the sound drowning out the choking noises strangling Kyle within from the darkest corner of his memory.

" Are you okay, Kahl?" Eric whispered, his voice sounding loud and disconnected. Kyle wanted him to keep talking, to stop talking, and everything in between as he choked on the words going nowhere. Before he could say anything, he felt sickness coursing through his body. To this, he caved, heat running down the sides of his face and taking all emotion from his voice.

" No."

" Do you wanna talk about it?"

" No."

A nod was given, for it was the only answer necessary. Kyle felt himself slipping away as he fell to the side on the mattress. Softness consumed him as he clutched Mr. Kitty to his chest. Every inch of his flesh ached and shook in his attempt not to vomit on the floor. Squeezing his eyes shut to ward off the demons manifesting in his mind, Kyle gripped at sanity and held on for everything he could by staying as close to Eric as possible. Behind him, feeling this desperation dripping into the air, the Nazi draped one of his shirts over him for warmth. This, Kyle clung to for the scent of sugar and metal as though it was the only hope he had to avoid the abyss threatening to destroy him. His sweet rubbed his tender touch over his back, resting his forehead against the Jew's throat.

" Stay as long as you want. . . .as long as you need,"

" Thanks, Eric,"

" Anythin' for you, Kahl," Eric whispered into his throat, his lips leaving fire over the Jew's very being. His Nazi stroked back his hair to lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. The sensation of metal twisting into shards of darkness blanketed the terror churning within his static memories. Kyle's eyes drifted shut as this darkness weaved it's way inside his heart to his soul to free him of sin.

Glittery tears stained the floor dressed in blood red.

Over the scars from before.


	15. Changes

Outside the window, the painted sunset was descending upon the main strip of South Park's town. Stan only vaguely glanced out at the pinks and oranges spiraling throughout the air to touch on the cracked backbone of a society who's only interest was a cheaply disguised candy store 'blow out' sale. This fleeting glance was discarded before it had really taken in the stores barely visible around the treetops cutting the suburbia off from a version of reality. He casually hoped that his missing in action friend, Kyle, had taken his advice and not attended the candy sale. In the back of his mind, though, he knew nothing he ever said registered once that particular mind was set in stone. Thus, the activist only gave a half hearted flicker of aquamarine towards the outside realm he had been avoiding as much as his Jewish counterpart had been avoiding him.

Rather, he slipped out of the midnight hideaway he had been holed up in as the weeks of summer drifted by in a searing heat almost to the point of peeling paint from the fragile homes he was so accustomed to. He hadn't honestly wanted to leave the room, but he knew inciting the creature he so desired seeing into it was harder then convincing Kyle to stop when he said go. For that reason alone, he walked only a few feet down a hallway that appeared to stretch from one side of humanity to another altogether. There was no difference to his eyes; they saw the same wallpapering and the same dull lighting. There was, however, quite the change within the chess game of his mental standing. A hand touched the black side with a grinning queen ready to strike, and all he could so was abandon his pawns and knights for the safety of his king. Yes, this was the feeling of dread and vulnerability which transcended from the harsh wooden door of the guest bedroom. Each time he approached this obstacle, he had found himself intrigued into peering inside to see what had become of the tiny room housing it's tiny murderer. This time, this time, was different. His hand rested on that golden knob, and he could just very well _taste_ the flooding ice enchanting him into a stupor of which he had only felt recently.

Oh, how this _fire_ burned throughout his senses.

Shivering in a truly captivated manner, Stan twisted the knob and shoved the door open into the bleak chamber which used to be a pristine bedroom. A stale scent of decay washed over his mouth in the flavor of burnt cigarettes, ash, and charred paper. Smoke lingered in the air, hanging down from the ceiling in a cloud of despairing opulence tortured into poverty. The once crisp sheets of his mother's flowery collection were tangled about the foot of a queen sized bed forever weighed down by junk and one sleeping monster. These sheets were faded as if washed constantly, which they were, and continually stained with grease, spit, and tobacco. An overflowing ashtray was on the floor, still burning with the remains of a habit banned from the house from the moment Kenny McCormick lit up in the kitchen and put his smoke out on his inner wrist. This smell cut across the sight, littering the image with the memory of one corner room caked in filth. Somehow, in only a few short weeks, this guest room had shifted from a room of pleasing, cookie cutter appeal to the disgracing ick of the poor boy's personal escape from the world. Peering into this, Stan saw all the magazines scattered on the floor, took in the trash building up in the corners, observed the moldering clothing sticking out from under the bed skirt, and inhaled the stank of smog and unwashed everything. He recalled the clean days of this room versus the almost sickening thing it had become. He thought of this and he could only grin in a truthfully pleased way.

How could he not? In only a few days, his lover had made himself so completely at home. Knowing this, Stan smiled through emotional intoxication as he stepped through the shadows into utter darkness. Utter, freezing darkness.

The door clanked shut when his fingertips dropped away from the metal. His feet found their way through the maze of disaster cut out of piles of trash and worn out clothes. Shards of broken glass sprinkled the creaking floorboards, sparkling from the glitter gracing cracked long necks and flat sides. Droplets of blood created a ribbon's bow about the edge of the bed he approached with absolute silence. Before him, he saw the collected mass of mental instability but all his mind could form was the elegant curve to Kenny's cheek where it laid on a silken pillowcase. He overlooked the crying fits he could see in the corner, where fist marks scuffed along the window sill overlooking the ruins of the McCormick place. He turned away from the screaming matches with the walls when the end table set had become one single. He even stepped clean over the broken remains of the second one, where it had be slammed repeatedly into the floor with the cries of are you happy now to no one alive. This reflection of the dawns and dusks spent reaching out to have his hand smacked away was all discarded. Down those memories, those painstaking hours of fiery consumption, fell to the icy mouth of a river never full. They vanished as the activist's fingers touched the soft sheets hugging the body of his beloved.

Stan didn't feel the need to say anything. The moment after his fingers found the sheets, so did the rest of him. He crawled into the bed without any regard for permission or allowance. His body was immediately swallowed up in the scent of powder rooms laced with cocaine; the same sensation of seeing the checkmate and knowing only how to make it less painful. Warmth washed down into the frozen veins constricting his heartbeat into a slow repeat. A soft sigh danced over his lips as Stan found the flesh he was craving more than the air about his head. He snuggled up to the poisonous snake he loved so dearly. His hands ran passionately over the sleeping Kenny, finding every succulent inch there was to find. To his completely surprise, however, there was more to find then before. A stunned quiver cascaded over his fingers as he wet his lips in a hungry acceptance of this new body laying in perfect innocence. His hands swept tender lips over the wide hips of his angel, feeling the width and taking in the growth arching into his palms. Squeezing those plump things, and causing a mighty tiny whine at the pressure, Stan found his fingers drifting over the rest of his pet. It seemed as though his pet had glutted himself on cream, for Kenny's slight curves had blossomed into full ones in the few weeks since the boy had moved in.

Prompted by pulsating curiosity, Stan swiped the lingering sheets from the full thighs of his lover. The blond cringed in the sudden cold, his arms hugging himself as his legs bent up in lovely lines. Muted shock swam through the blanketed mindset of the activist, leaving him in a half daze poised only in a cocked grin. Shivers trailed over his arms as his fingers found the pleasant bulge of Kenny's wider waistline. The weight was enough to tug at his ratty shirt and to spill a few inches over the hemline to his jean shorts. A small strip of squishy belly was visible, and to it Stan seemed inherently drawn. Pushing his fingertips into the weight gathered at his middle, he felt the increase of at least a dozen pounds. His fingers eased down, then he just grinned as he felt along the plumped up middle of his cutely whiny Ken. The angel thrashed about in soft body movements, stretching out his fat thighs and attempting to curl up. He couldn't, of course, for his hips were snatched up by the greedy hands of his lover. Pouting, then, Kenny covered his eyes with one arm, while Stan rubbed his hands over that heavy middle having grown into a full belly.

" Damn, Ken," he exclaimed in a mild tone which revealed nothing of the pounding bliss radiating throughout his mindset. The tone in his voice, however, was betrayed by the aqua of his eyes baring exactly what he was thinking. To those glowing orbs, Kenny peered around his plump wrist.

" What?" the angel mumbled through an exhausted yawn.

" Uh. . ." the brunette's voice trailed away as he gently, lightly, ever so sweetly poked his darling's belly. Two piercing sapphires looked down at the arch of his waist stretching out his shirt so dramatically. Yet, for all the cutting glory of those eyes, Stan didn't feel the need to sugarcoat what was going through his mind. He certainly stumbled on the words, unsure of how this conversation would end up, but he didn't steer off topic, " You've. . .ah. . . gained some weight,"

" Big deal," Kenny spat out without concern. He turned his attention towards the ink stained jeans of his activist lover instead. He played with the button, pulling on it in a less than coy manner. Stan felt his eyes lowering to see the dirt smeared hands teasingly undoing his jeans. There was no need to address the perverted nature of the motions, though, so he merely arched an eyebrow at the disturbingly empty expression of the blond.

" It doesn't bother you?" he idly questioned, touching the edge of the jeans he knew were growing much too tight to be comfortable. Looking up at him from the lightly cold sheets, Kenny tilted his head upon the pillow. Blond locks fell into his eyes, pouring shadows over the blue hue gazing upwards to the emptiness that was the apathetic attraction overhead. The two stared emptiness into inconsiderate. For the first time, Stan felt his heart ache in something close to lustful need, just from one simple turn of cheek and flicker of blue.

" Should it?"

There was something about the way Kenny said those two words which stopped the discussion before it had really started. A second, weighing as much as a century, halted in Stan's memory when those words struck the frozen waters within him. He felt the ice cracking as sure as he felt the crawling warmth slipping over his hands from the hips of his angel of death. He couldn't explain what it was in that moment which was different from everything before and everything after, but how he knew it was a difference he would never forget as long as he breathed. That second, that solitary second, was a breath of faint smoke and a look of shattered innocence of every primal thought ever to cross a mind. That second restarted time to the very beginning. The beginning of what, he knew he knew not, but he knew this was the honest beginning to a story which had started long before he had realized it was a tale to be told. This moment, this single moment, painted only in two minute words of no real purpose or importance, began the quest he was certain would end in the same manner which it began. Tasting it in the silence poised in memories past, in the eyes baring the universal darkness, he was quite sure fate was starting right then. After this, after he exhaled, nothing would be quite the same.

Stan exhaled as slowly as he possibly could.

" Dunno. Jus'. . .making conversation," he lightly offered, knowing nothing else to say to the boy staring up at him. Kenny gave him a moment to reflect upon his answer before he slightly smiled his own insulting smile of sheer cattiness. A spark jolted up Stan's spine in a delightfully agony, causing him to flinch under his own flesh.

" 'Bout my weight?" Kenny jeered, puckering his lips in an utterly playful way. His lover couldn't really explain anything about his decision to strike up this line of talk, having forgotten almost entirely why he thought of doing so. He could only shrug a little and grant the poor boy a weak, sheepish smile. Kenny ignored the response, the emotions flying away from the curves of his face as if they had never been there to begin with. He simply adjusted his body so that his head with rested near the inside of the activist's jeans. There, he tugged on the undone pants and chewed on the edge. The gesture was ignored, cast away as a common occurrence, while Stan gently tucked back some of the messy blond locks. His thumb stroked alone Kenny's full cheek in a sort of apology, feeling along the smooth, silken skin in slow movements.

" Kinda a weird topic, huh?" he meekly admitted, tracing a heart over Kenny's chest where he felt his heart beating in steady sensations. The words which crept over his skin from the depths of a dead frost, however, made his whole body freeze. Beneath his fingertips, he felt no heartbeat accompanied with them. There was only the hollow grave buried within his dying, crying angel, peering straight up from the corners of hell to watch Stan sink into the sunken waters pooled in those stabbing words.

" 'Specially since I jus' killed my family. You'd think you'd wanna talk 'bout that," Kenny breathed out, the little pin needles of his voice thrusting down throughout the stiff body laying beside him. Every muscle making up the activist's body tightened into bone. His lungs clung to the biting air lingering around his shivering eyes. All he could was draw in a slow, uneven, churning breath of this smoke spotted air, as his eyes darted quickly away. The memories creeping over the shattered realm of the guest room, however, caused him to look at nothing and everything in the very same motion.

" . . . I. . . didn't think you'd wanna talk about that," he cautiously stated even as his voice faltered inside his strangled throat. A vision of that maniac child, his head thrown back in wild laughter, catcalled from the very back of his mind. It took everything inside Stan to grit himself to that image; the one he wished had never existed. Thankfully, that appeared to be a shared desire, for Kenny said nothing else in that depraved, haunted mirage of a voice.

" Good call. I don't,"

" Right," Stan bluntly said, swallowing harder than ever before. His eyes found themselves staring directly where he didn't want to look, which was at the blood stained parka thrown on the floor before the window peering out towards the rest of their childhood's ruined. He saw that thing just before Kenny slowly eased his body into a sitting position. Cracks were among his sapphires, showing the sobbing rage behind them, but only for one flash of screaming sanity. Wetting his lips, the angel pushed back Stan's uncombed hair, so that his empty face of such frozen lines could be seen without having to pry.

" I don't wanna talk. I don't like talkin'," the utterance was so soft, so pure, it almost felt a sin to overhear it. To it, Stan could only nod gingerly, his tongue painting embers upon his lips. A dirty hand moved him onto his backside, so that his aqua stones could see the untouched ceiling bathed in a blanket of forbidden smoke. He stared up at it, then up into the tearstained, brutalized face of a child growing up too fast for his mind to keep up pace. Sapphire desperation gazed into his very soul, tasting foul against the boy he used to love. Into this person, Stan looked, seeing the withering pleasure creating the emptiness gracing a face he had seen smile so gracefully only a few short weeks beforehand. Broken desire washed into the pools of tainted haunts inside the both of them in the moment when Kenny straddled the pained lover who looked up into him like he could really see through sapphire shields, " I need you right now. An' I don't need words. 'Kay?"

" 'Kay."

When Kenny pressed his lips down over Stan's mouth, they were trapped within the game board execution masquerading as one delicious union. Pinned to the sheets, pinned beneath the smoke forcing him into a delirious daze, Stan felt himself slipping away in a wicked temptation he had since refused. There was no refusal then, for he tasted the drowned liquor memories of his beloved in that first embrace. Pressure eased away into a sense of illusion which would never be shaken from that moment. Stan couldn't honestly say to whom he made love that evening as the darkness sank South Park into the evening without moonlight. A summer's eve it was not, for laughter could be heard only in the deepest searching memories from times spent long ago in the days when Stark's Pond was still open for swimming. Those discarded youths, now youths no longer, were the only movements outside the curtains of pure white which held out reality. That evening, in all places among the insiders, there was a haughty quiet punctured by the moaning satisfaction of one soul.

This one soul clung hungrily to Stan, his kiss tasting like burnt dreams. There was something sinister in the manner Kenny kissed him that evening. Everything about it was primal, like the striking of a match over the feast of animals; something ill conceived and not recommended for survival. This was how he felt as he was shoved down into the sheets and his soul swallowed straight from his mouth. The way his angel pulled back, his wet, hot tongue slipping along his cracked lips, spoke volumes to the tragedy he had agreed to. He saw Kenny swallow down his very heart and he found he could only pant in allusive emotions so hard to name he gave up without trying.

What Kenny alluded to was not what he took. His need was much more physical than he had ever stated, but it wasn't something Stan disagreed with. He felt two hands on his hips, their fingers pushing into his flesh, and digging underneath, and he did not refuse. He allowed Kenny to get under his skin in the best sort of way. He felt heat dancing over the soft curves of his lover. Every second engaged in the passionate embrace of this monster set his dead insides ablaze in something of fire frozen in place. Stabbing, little thrusts bled him of his stiff resistance, so that his own hands had snatched up Kenny's waist. He slammed that little witch down into the sheetless bed. His mouth consumed the throat of the hysterical monster he adored the same way which Kenny grabbed up his hair and held him in place. Their skin blended and bent together, rocking in time to the fast racing of hearts pounding in chests struggling for air in a world too fiery to breathe. Pain traced beautiful lines throughout the activist's eyesight as he ran his tongue over the stretched neck of his darling. Bitter blood and salty sweat laced his tongue like a drug he couldn't drink enough of. Down his teeth sank, through the fleshy barrier, so that he could taste everything that made Kenny his perfect match.

Every swallow he took of that rich elixir caused Kenny to cry out in his lovely Southern drawl for more. Hands caught up Stan's shirt, ripping the fabric from seam to seam. The broken thing was discarded as dirty fingers pulled a tattered shirt from a plump body. Somewhere between these motions, Stan tore his mouth away from that throat so as to let their burning, frozen bodies to push wholly into one another. Every stroke of rough fingertips over his bare backside made Stan pant that much harder into his lover's neck. Blood spilled onto the white sheets, as his head was pulled away from the wound. He was kissed full on, so that the blood lingered in the gluttonous embrace. That was only enough to make them both switch their hands from one another to themselves. The zippers made a sound so useless, it was lost to the happy giggles and wild abandon filtering into the hazy realm Kenny had created.

The tight jeans of the two lovers fell to join the rest of the discarded clothing cluttering the room. No words were used to express what was already agreed upon. There was a bottle of strawberry lubricant on the lasting end table, placed there in the first few hours they had become roommates. The top of this enchanting thing was flipped off, to the floor with everything else, as the clear liquid oozed over Stan's hardened cock. Two dirt stained hands latched onto his shoulders, sapphires glazed over in anticipation begging him to hurry quicker. Then, the most elegant, brashest sound crashed into the silence of the descending evening. Kenny threw his head back and he screamed with every ounce of his soul as Stan pushed into him. The penetration echoed throughout the chamber of the pulsating room, nails dragging the sound over Stan's very flesh in popping blood lines. He thrust to the feel of that pain, seeing his lover lost in the fierce motion. Every thrust was something hard, something vicious, something that was nothing like the love making which had come before. Their voices painted this in the crying, screeching shouts bouncing off their entangled bodies. Kenny's back bent in every quaking seizure which gripped his body as Stan hugged his lover's body to his panting mouth. The deeper he went, the louder everything got, to the point where his mind was blanked to the noise building into the vicious movements of a game already won. Fingers cut through his back, eating up his skin, while his mouth pressed down into Kenny's chest. He tasted the way that heart skipped beat after beat, skipping to the sensation of every thrust inside the body of that boy.

" Harder! Harder! Harder!" Kenny shrieked, his voice directly next to Stan's ear. That voice was wet, hot, and the taste of the sweat Stan was drinking in. His tongue ran over the tensing skin of his lover, his eyes squeezing shut, as he pushed that much deeper into the tender inside of his angel. The blond outright screamed, the pain bearing down in the sound, rocketing Stan to his bones in icy reality. Yet, those fingers plunged down into his hips, jerking them forward as he thrust his cock into the tightened walls of the other's ass. The pressure was overwhelming, white washing every thought, but that voice careening throughout the furious embrace, " I said _harder! Harder! Harder!_"

" I can't get any deeper, dammit!" Stan cried out, his cheek shoved deep into the weight gathered at his lover's waist. His words were nearly consumed by the shrieking pain of the blond as he shoved inside as hard, as deep, as he could. Fire dripped from his brow as he gasped, choking on his every attempted breath, " _I can't go any harder, Ken!_"

He received nothing other than that one word in fierce answer. Before he could scream out, before he could even thrust once more, his shoulders were shoved backwards. Kenny slammed him down onto the mattress hard enough to blind his lover for the force and the sensation of his head cracking down into the wall. Above him, he saw the fluttering image of a flushed face overthrown by the passions of an incubus. Below him, he felt the bed jolting in the motions of their bodies intertwined in a fury of emotions overflowing upon their very flesh. Blood dripped into his face as he tried to find Kenny amongst the air he just could not swallow. Then, as he screamed, his head smashing back into the pillows, he felt that body slide down his shaft. The first was a seductive introduction to Kenny's body in the thralls of sex. The way that body arched over his cock, those thighs squeezing his hips for positioning, was the most overwhelming sight Stan had ever seen. He cried out, screamed out, as that sexed angel moved up his shaft, his face overturned in rose blush and poised in a perfect little 'O'. Kenny's hips tilted, his back curved a slight bit more, and he shoved Stan's hands down on the fat weight of his gorgeous hips.

Kenny used Stan in every, single sense of the word when he slammed his body down on that erect cock.

Every thrust was wholly met by Kenny's own, creating the deepest, hardest motions either of them had ever experienced. White bursts of excitement exploded in Stan's mind, jolting down into his toes and up to his fingertips digging through the flesh of his beloved's hips. Screaming danced over his body, creating the music they danced to, in this forever replaying music tape of pleasure. Pounding sensations beyond the realm of wonderful rocked throughout the activist's fragile, breaking mind just before the edge came up faster than ever. He felt that body over his, those hands holding his own down, and he heard nothing but the beautiful raising of Kenny's voice into the universe. The second he heard that cry striking the walls, he felt his body tear into a thousand pieces of bottled up everything. All emotions burned into that one frightfully glorious second of sheer physical ecstasy when his body truly became one with the angel's. Pulsing joy cascaded through his being, down to his core, and throughout every thought he had ever thought. When he was laying on the bed, his eyes lost in a blanket of sparkling glitter, Stan knew that he had never experienced anything quite like that rush.

The first thing to swim up in front of his exhausted, spent orbs was the image of Kenny pulling himself off of Stan. That wicked deviant ran a finger over the activist's stomach, rubbed the sticky expression of pleasure between two dirty, naughty fingers, and licked the traces away in his sick hunger for physical emotions. Like the addict he was, Kenny laced his fingertips over Stan's cock, fingering the head there. Nothing more could be done, though, for Stan only shivered and smiled in utter satisfaction. To that, Kenny leaned over him, his face a picture of perverse gratitude, before he laid a gentle kiss upon the brunette's lips. A lingering of blood made that innocent kiss anything but. Exhaling in his own spent heat, Kenny fell to lay beside Stan, his head on the activist's shoulder.

For one moment, they laid there, breathing in deep, and attempting to bring their hearts into a normal range of excitement. During this, Kenny tilted his head as he had beforehand. He peered up at his lover with those perfectly pained sapphires, still so desirable for all their broken shadows.

" I don't like bein' alone," he breathed out in a voice as fleeting as the touches of darkness upon their glistening skin. Stan felt his heart aching to hear that whisper coming from someone he treasured as much as he truly did that boy. It was all he could do not to lay a gentle kiss on that troubled mouth. Yet, he withheld, for he could nearly taste what was needed right then, and a kiss it was not any longer.

" You don't have to be," he assured him in the smallest of timbre's. His voice quaked in fear of a rejection he didn't even need to fear. There was nothing here to be shoved aside, any reason for those stark cold walls to enclose over his lover. Still, he heard his voice breaking along every edge, creaking with his longing not to be misunderstood and for his true emotions to surface behind unmoving waters. From the way that Kenny looked over him, not over at him, but rather over him, into the meaning for all which he said in that hollow sound, he felt a sense of relief. As with the fear, though, he knew this emotions to be a jolting manifestation of a sensation that he conceived mentally, not emotionally.

" I don't have anywhere else to go," the poor boy mumbled into the side of the haphazard pillows. His every gesture drew lines down the body of the other, searching him for the answers already presented in the ill placed emotions. Yet, Stan could feel nothing outside of the gripping chill of a forgotten time by a moonlit realm sparkling with glitter. In this, he heard himself speaking words already spoken, his hands gently cupping a beautiful face framed by tangled hair.

" Stay with me. Here."

" What?"

" Stay at my house," Stan felt a crack heal as a wound twisted itself throughout his soul just at the very suggestion. He had made this assertion once before, but only then did he feel the claws dragging along his backside at the way those sapphires consumed his every thought. Widened with a misplaced tone, Kenny's eyes did not seem to be the overjoyed gems needed. Even his voice, in fact, rang true of that frightening wicked sickness clouding everything within Stan like smoke hanging by an innocent ceiling. Taint was wrought in every inch of that beaming face, in all the stuttering uncertainty to that voice.

" F-Forever?"

Above his head, Stan saw the queen's piece clutched in a hand stained in freshly split blood and christened with sapphire rings adorned with diamond glitter. This piece was such a delightfully horrid spectacle, for it's double edged guillotine's blade attached to the bottom, swinging just over his outstretched neck. Such was the coying sweetness of the voice trickling out of Kenny's puckered lips and tickling their way over Stan's flickering feelings. How it played lovely tricks in the faded light of the ending evening, twirling around just where the pointed blade couldn't be seen for all the heart throbbing careful wording. For every touch of death in this game, though, there was but a faint desperation for honesty that was beyond real. The aqua orbs of crystallized snow took in the play, took in the true danger to his admission, and he took the chance to finding where the striking horror lurking in that angel's soul hailed from. He ignored that swinging pendulum threatening his sanity as he stroked back Kenny's hair, so as to see the searching need in those shattered eyes, and he kissed him as he did it. He kissed him with every ounce of passion within the frozen blood within so that he heard and he tasted and he felt and he _knew_ what he answered was more than the truth. It was a truth that was perfectly fine ignoring the blood and smoke and fire forever dirtying the hands of the angel he loved more than anything.

He feared Kenny. And he knew it then more than he ever would, despite all that he couldn't have known then. He felt that fear rising in every strike out, every new ante, and every checkmate; haunting the edge of even his most innocent words and statements, like a disease needing to be eradicated. This changed everything. This moment changed everything between the two of them, the two freaky four missing, and everyone else they knew. Stan knew it changed everything, and he said it anyways. He feared his precious angel, and that changed everything, and he _said it anyways_.

" I don't want you to be alone," he whispered under his breath so the heavens wouldn't hear him. He felt two hands ease up to grip his own, against those plump cheeks, as though Kenny heard those words without being able to handle what they meant. Stan pressed his forehead into that of his beloved and he looked directly into the sweetness inside the sinister sapphires, " Stay in my room. With me."

Checkmate. Down the blade swung.

And how Kenny's lips pulled into that Cheshire smile at the bloodshed.

" You're too good fer me," Kenny teased in the casual turn of his little accent, as if he couldn't see the way he won this game so flawlessly. The touch of toying to his words was enough to avoid the pitfalls of execution, however. A small smile worked it's ways over Stan's mouth to the point he felt himself wetting his lips in what might be called seduction.

" Don't say that," Stan answered calmly, running a hand down to rest on his lover's hip. Kenny turned his body into the activist's, melding their dual warmth into a single pulsating sensation of fire trailing the devastating touches of burning ice. Their heart beats found the tempo of the way their breath caught in their throat just from looking aquamarine and sapphire stones. The poor boy gripped the other's shoulder as his hip was grabbed in the same manner of personal, mental intoxication, " I love you is all."

" I love you too. More than you know."

Something ignited to those words; something similar to smoke ablaze with the choking touches of gun powder. Black, thick clouds engulfed Stan's memories, blanketed every form of thought he attempted in the way of dragging up the sudden light bulb flash created by the way that phrase rolled off Kenny's smiling lips. A wagging of tongue, though, was all which he could make out from the way those ring studded fingers tapped on the queen's position directly beside the king. The tilted, shimmering, glitter engraved sword of a warrior was drawn back by this laughing queen, swinging down in a sheer flutter of blinding emerald lightning, just before that overwhelming sensation of misplaced horror rose up in Stan's throat. He felt himself recoiling to the way blond swung around a swell of hips and the hemline twisted up to reveal a leg he knew better than the name he called out in his sleep. His mouth formed that beautiful expression even then before he was hearing a rock song cancelling out _her_. The phrase crashed down through the waters of a still night long ago, never to be seen again, as Stan jerked away from the way Kenny was laughing under his breath, his blond hair twisted about eyes of such a darkened blue, they were nearly black.

With a half hearted roll of the eyes, though, Stan didn't have the chance to see those pretty things melt back into their stunningly bright shade of blue. All he saw was the phone vibrating on the floor, near his jeans' pockets where it had fallen from. He didn't need to see anything else to know exactly who was on the other end of that connection. Something about the way the world felt just a touch more fiery told him who was waiting for him to snatch the quivering thing from the floor and answer already.

" Hang on a sec," he grumbled out as he shifted his body around so he could grab the phone off the floor. He heard slight groans and adorable whimpers underneath from his lover, which only made him prolong his rescue mission, " It's Kyle."

" It's always Kyle," was the bitter retort snapped back at Stan as he finally returned to his fallen position on the mattress. The activist glanced momentarily at where the poor boy was glancing away and towards the doorway. He couldn't explain the look gracing those full cheeks as he flipped open the phone to hear what he assumed was going to be an earful.

" Hello?" Stan asked, as if he didn't already know who's voice he was about to hear bursting into his mind. Even as a slight smile crossed his mouth, even as he readied to jerk the slender thing away as the screaming began, even as he chuckled under his breath, he _felt_ it. That deathly quiet awfulness, unadulterated sickness, spiraling from his friend into his own pools of ice. It darted over the silence, eating alive all the charm and pleasure of the perceived complaining fest. All of the jest was wholeheartedly removed without a sound needed to erase it from existence. And still, when those few words, that one phrase, struck the air, the sensation of embers searing away the bubbling flesh of an unprepared lamb was so very raw and real and unforeseen, Stan could hardly believe it himself.

Horror itself wasn't comparable. Fear, no. Terror, no. Repulsion, no. Nothing, no, nothing, could _ever_ compare to the disease crawling in that phrase as it spilled into the air like an illness overcoming reason and sanity.

" I fell asleep on Cartman's bed."

There was no pitch, no tone, no timbre, no anything to the way Kyle said it. His voice was a hollow ditch fit for the grave, dragging bloody shovel heads in the form of a cross where the soul ought to have been. This cold creature cut along Stan's body with enough force to jerk him into a sitting position the same way in which an electrical shock might of. Jagged wounds, once healed in their sewed up, liquored down mannerisms, felt frightening close to the knife poised in that Jew's empty voice. Just one breath, one more breath, was enough to slice through every slick trick to defense, to find the heart, and gouge it from the body in a greedy need to hinder all little, lost lambs lifeless. This was what found Stan that evening when the sunset swallowed up the remaining light of the South Park suburban version of picture perfect hell. Twisted metal words ground their pointed edges against the activist's darkest corners of his every thought, and he sat there, in the decrepit guest bedroom, soaked in a freezing sweat, unable to respond to their painful return.

" What?"

" You heard me."

" When?" Stan begged, knowing there could only be one answer given. He still asked, praying against all prayers that this was one of those nights when the past found Kyle unwilling to return to the present. He prayed that this was one of the nights when he would listen to the child of yesteryear sobbing in his ear. He shouldn't have hoped, though. Every passing second, those pointed blades drove their sickening tips underneath his skin, fleshing out the tearstained, blood red sheets of the days when someone else would be calling to tell him this. He heard that highly accented deadpan voice, heard the weak crying in the background, and he knew how foolish it was to ask something like 'when'.

" Today," Kyle just barely breathed out the word, for it was the greatest sin he could have ever said. Stan knew without needing to hear it, so he didn't dare ask him to repeat it. He just gripped up Kenny's fragile, dirty, little hand with those painted bubblegum pink nails flickering with glitter. All about his head, he heard the soft pounding of a parental fight that didn't survive to really exist in this moment. He heard that, and he saw long, skinny fingers with naked nails, and he fell into the trap of this tangled tango.

" You haven't done that since you were twelve," Stan plainly, emptily stated. His voice collided with the ground as a bottle breaking when it slipped through the hands of a small boy sobbing into the arms of someone he didn't even like. The pieces littered the floor in tiny, gleaming flecks of gems, catching and tossing the light all around the memories of middle school.

" I know."

" Are you okay?"

Stan needn't have asked. Before he tightly shut eyes, he saw those terrified emerald eyes glistening with tears, staring up at him from another time and another place. Hands bound in bandages clung feverishly to a bloodstained shirt stretched over a full stomach as that mouth cried out what his eyes already said. Stan saw all this as that devoid voice said what he already knew.

" No."

And what was left unsaid changed everything.


End file.
